<6  ^    a 


"^y^  -^^^'.o. 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


y 


// 


/ 


^:^ 


y 


5r     ^/^ 


1.0 


I.I 


IIIIM 
IIM 

120 

1.8 


1.25      1.4 

1.6 

1 

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1 

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/a 


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/A 


Photographic 

Sciences 
Corporation 


23  WEST  MAf^^t  STREET 

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(716)  873-4S03 


^ 


<P 


V 


iV 


\\ 


^<b 


V 


<c 


O 


;\ 


<h 


(/j 


CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/ICMH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


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O' 


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Covers  damaged/ 
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[7] 


D 
D 


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obtenir  !a  meilleure  image  possible. 


10X 

14X 

18X 

22X 

26X 

SOX 

y 

12X                              16X                             20X                              24X                             28X                             32X 

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et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  ndcessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  m6thode.  ^ 


1 

2 

3 

1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

1^ 


National  Library 
of  Canada 


Bibliotheque  nationale 
du  Canada 


1 

in 


f 

]i  ii 


K-'i 


\\    . 


•"i^^mi 


Pe'ii*      "'iifci 


/I    '•• 


MacCARTHY  MORE; 


>M 


OB   THE 


h  i 


FORTUISrES  OF  AN  IRISH  CHIEF 


IN     THE 


REIGN  OF  QUEEN  ELIZABETH. 


By  Mrs.  J.   SADLIER, 

▲CTHOBESa  OF    "  HKIBBai    OV    KILOROAN  ;  "    <'BI.AKKS    AND    VLAyAOANB  ;  ** 

"WthUX    BVBKS;"     "NKW    litQHTS  ; "     "THE    CONFEUEBATK    OHIBV- 

TAIN8  ;  "     "  BUNOB  FBESTON  ;  "     •'  BESSIE    CONWAY  ; '"    "  THE  C0«- 

VEBSIOMS   or    AM    APOBTATB  ;  "      "COM    O'BEOAK  ; "     "OU> 

AKD  KKW  ; "   "  THE  HERMIT  OF  TUB  BOOK  ;  "   *'  TH« 

OLD    HOtJSK     BY    THE    BOYNE  ; "      "  AUNT 

homob'b   kekfsake  ;  "   &u.,  tic. 


\ 


.  \ 


NEW    YORK: 
D.  &  J,  SADLIER  &  CO.,   31  BARCLAY  STREET 

MORTBEAL  i—OOn.  ITOTBE  DAUE  AMU  ST.  rB\KOIS  XAYIEB  ST8> 


Ps^^37 


"•■p^ppi 


NS 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  CongreBS,  in  thi  year  1868,  bj 

D.  &  J.  SADLIER  &  CO., 

In  the  (Jlerk'B  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  tiM 

Southern  District  of  New  York. 


*K 


by  VINCENT  DILL, 
tSilVI  N«w  ChMiiMn  8t ,  N.  T. 


'' 


ft 


PREFACE. 


>' 


In  presenting  this  historical  sketch  to  the 
reader,  the  author  has  a  full  consciousness  of 
the  objections  that  may  bo  raised  against  it. 
No  work  less  artistic  was  ever  offered  to  a 
criticising  public.  It  is  neither  story,  nor  bi- 
ography, neither  all  truth,  nor  all  fiction,  but 
a  mixture  of  all.  It  will  be  seen  that  the 
commencement  has  more  of  the  character  of 
an  ordinary  tale,  and  that  is  because  the  earlier 
life  of  Florence  MacCarthy  and  his  wife  pre- 
sents more  of  the  romantic  element  than  the 
long,  weary  years  of  care  and  turmoil  and 
ceaseless  disquietude  that  came  after. 

The  subject  may  seem  badly  chosen  for  a 
tale,  but  such  as  it  is,  I  would  not  willingly 
have  changed  it  for  another,  were  it  even  of  a 
more  dramatic  character.  This  was  chosen  with 
due  deliberation,  for  the  purpose  of  bringing 
before  the  new  generation  the  half-forgotten 
name  and   fame  of  one  of  the  most  remarkable 


i7 


PREFACE. 


Irishmen  of  the  troubled  sixteenth  century.  A 
literary  friend,  over  whom  the  grave  has  since 
closed,  wrote  to  me  at  an  early  stage  of  this 
sketch — "I  foresee  that  the  absence  of  the  moral 
element  in  the  character  of  Florence  Mac  Car  thy 
will  be  your  greatest  difficulty";  and  so  I  have 
found  it.  Nevertheless,  taken  with  all  his  faults, 
Florence  was  a  man  of  many  gifts,  more  sinned 
against  than  sinning, — a  man  whose  good  and 
even  noble  qualities  were  all  his  own,  whose 
bad  qualities  were  engrafted  on  his  nature  by 
the  continued  injustice  of  which  he  was  most  of 
his  long  life  the  victim.  Perhaps,  in  all  history 
there  is  no  other  instance  of  such  a  career  as  his. 
Noble,  even  princely,  by  birth,  the  inheritor  of  vast 
estates,  both  from  his  father  and  father-in-law, 
Tanist  or  heir  apparent  to  the  territory  and  the 
dignity  of  MacCarthy  Reagh,  and,  finally,  elect- 
ed by  chiefs  and  people  to  the  style  and  title 
of  MacCarthy  More,  or  head  of  his  sept, — he 
was  engaged  in  a  constant  struggle  with  the  all- 
grasping  powers  that  were,  and  the  rapacious 
adventurers  of  that  day  in  Ireland,  for  the  pos- 
session of  his  own  rightful  inheritance.  Little 
benefit  did  he  derive  from  the  vast  possessions 
that  were  his  only  in  name,  and  the  great  power 
that  would  have  enabled  him,  if  a  free  agent,  to 
render  effective  aid  to  the  national  party  with 


.  I 


"  \ 


#  •* 


"w^,«i« 


PREFACE. 


"►  * 


whom  all  his  sympathies  were  entertained,  was 
BO  trammeled  by  the  jealous  policy  of  Elizabeth 
and  her  ministers  that  he  was  unable  to  turn  it 
to  account.  That  he  carried  on  for  many  years 
extensive  negotiations  with  Catholic  princes 
abroad  there  can  be  no  doubt,  and  that  he  stood 
high  in  the  estimation  of  the  King  of  Spain  and 
other  powerful  friends  of  the  persecuted  Catho- 
lics of  Ireland  is  equally  certain.  Perhaps  his 
great  error  was  excessive  caution,  and  a  too 
great  fondness  for  temporizing.  Had  he  lived 
in  our  day  he  would  probably  be  called  "  a 
trimmer,"  and  there  is  no  doubt  that  he  was 
entitled  to  the  name  of  "The  Munster  Machia" 
velli,"  given  him  by  our  friend  already  referred 
to  ;  yet,  we  think,  the  diflBculties  of  his  position 
were  net  sufficiently  considered  by  O'Neil  and 
Desmond  and  the  other  Catholic  leaders  of  his 
own  day, — and  we,  of  modern  times,  have  been,  and 
are,  too  apt  to  take  the  characters  of  historic  men 
and  women  as  their  enemies  represent  them.  We 
are  of  opinion  that,  as  time  rolls  on,  and  Irish 
history  becomes  more  known,  through  the  labors 
of  Irish  scholars,  the  character  of  Florence  Mac- 
Carthy  More  will  be  seen  in  a  more  favorable 
light.  Much  has  been  done  to  justify  his  charac- 
ter by  the  admirable  work  of  Daniel  Mac  Car  thy, 
BO  often  quoted  in  this  volume — "  Life  and  Letters 


▼i 


•PRE  FAC  E. 


of  Florence  MacCarthy  More."  We  know  of 
no  work  wo  would  sooner  recommend  to  the 
student  of  Irish  history,  not  even  Father  Mechan's 
"Flight  of  the  Earls  of  Tyrone  and  Tyrconnell." 
Taken  together,  they  are  two  of  the  best  works 
on  Irish  subjects  that  these  latter  years  have 
produced.  Hoping  that  the  singular  phase  of 
Irish  history  here  given  to  the  public  may  in- 
duce some  readers  to  penetrate  farther  into  that 
comparatively  unworked  mine  of  ancient  lore,  I 
send  it  forth  with  all  its  imperfections  on  its 
head. 

New  York,  June,  1868. 


»^ 


"^iik^drii 


MacCARTHY  MORE; 

on, 
THE  FORTUNES  OF  AN  miSII  CHIEF 

IN  THE  REIGN  OF  QUEEN  ELIZA.BETH. 


)l 


CHAPTER  I. 

Is  the  year  1588  the  fair  province  of  Munster  pre- 
sented, for  the  most  part,  one  wide  scene  of  desola- 
tion ;  the  eighv'.  ydars'  rebellion  of  Gerald,  sixteenth 
Earl  of  Desmond,  had  been  at  length  suppressed,  at 
enormous  cost  to  the  Government,  and  the  gory 
head  of  the  aged  earl  was  bleaching  on  a  spike  on 
London  Bridge,  With  the  exception  of  the  very  few 
chieftams  of  note  who  had  stood  by  the  Queen's 
Government  during  the  rebellion,  all  the  new  and 
old  English,  as  well  as  the  native  Irish  lords,  had  seen 
their  countries  lirst  ravaged  with  fire  and  sword, 
then  handed  over  by  royal  grants  and  letters  patent 
to  the  officers  of  the  Queen's  army.  Over  and  above 
this  wholesale  transfer  of  entire  districts  to  the  great 
adventurers  whose  names  are  but  too  familiar  to  rea4* 


wmmmm^mm 


8 


MaoCariuy  Mori;  or, 


era  of  Irish  history,  the  St.  Legers,  the  Raloighs,* 
the  Herberts,  the  Courtncys,  the  Trenchers,  the 
Berkeleys,  uud  many  others,  a  swarm  of  the  smaller 
fry,  the  common  soldiers,  and  others  such,  over- 
ran the  country,  taking  each  what  he  could  grasp 
in  the  struggle,  and  then  securing  a  right  to  the 
same  by  petition  and  claims  for  service  rendered. 

It  was  at  once  painful  and  curious  to  see  the  vari- 
ous shifts  to  which  the  original  owners  had  recourse, 
in  order  to  save  even  a  remnant  of  their  property 
from  the  claws  of  the  cormorants  who  were  seizing  all 
under  favor  of  '*  the  Queen's  Majesty."  Even  those 
chiefs,  or  lords  of  countries  who  had,  from  prudential 
motives,  or  a  strange  perversity  of  judgment,  upheld 
the  English  cause  against  their  kinsmen  and  country- 
men, and  consented  to  hold  their  territories  from  the 
Queen,  found  it  harder  than  they  might  have  ex- 
pected to  make  head  against  the  insidious  policy  of 
the  great  and  small  Undertakers  from  England,  who 
had  set  their  hearts  on  having  and  holding  every 
foot  of  laud  that  had  an  Irish  Papist  for  its  owner. 
Thus  stood  matters  in  the  Southern  province  of  Ire- 
land at  the  opening  of  our  story,  in  the  k  quarter 
of  the  sixteenth  century. 

Amongst  those  native  Munster  chieftains  who  had 
remained  loyal  to  the  Government  throughout  the 
Desmond  rebellion,  were  the  lords  of  Carbery  and 

*  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  and  his  friends  alone  received  no  less 
than  36,000  acres  of  the  confiscated  lands  of  Desmond,  com- 
prising gome  of  the  richest  and  most  fertile  in  Ireland. 


^m^^m 


Till  FoRTUNKS  OV   AN   IrISII   ChIBI. 


9 


Muskerry,  two  of  the  three  great  clilcfB  of  the  pow- 
erful sept  of  the  MacCarthys.  But  the  head  of  their 
house,  the  INIacCarthy  More,  although  created  Karl 
of  Clanuarthy  by  Queen  Elizabeth  at  the  outbreak  of 
the  rebellion,  had  done  little,  or  ratlier  nothing,  to 
serve  the  Government ;  being  the  brother-in-law  of 
the  Earl  of  Desmond  (whose  sister  was  his  wife),  he 
had  never  actually  joined  the  English  against  him, 
and  the  Government,  knowing  tho  vast  |.  '  er  he 
could  have  thrown  into  the  scale  in  favor  of  Dc  ,mond, 
were  fain  to  keep  him  in  his  neutral  posit*  n,  even  at 
the  risk  of  his  giving  secret  aid  to  Ms  relati^  e  .«id 
friend.  J^.i,houg!»  Donald,  Firl  of  Olanea'  ih; ,  was 
nOs  the  man  to  be  influenced  by  patriotism,  or,  in- 
deed, any  other  high  and  lofty  motive,  being  much 
addicted  to  low,  sensual  pleasures,  and  r:*turally  of  a 
mean  and  grovelUng  mind,  still  it  is  quite  certain  his 
sympathies  were  with  the  oppressed  Catholics,  and 
that  he  did  aftbrd  some  aid  and  comfort  to  the  Earl 
of  Desmond  in  his  sore  need.  His  vast  territories, 
bordering  on  those  of  the  Geraldines,  had  suffered 
severely  during  the  long-protracted  contest;  Don- 
ald's neutrality  could  not,  and  did  not,  preserve 
them  from  sharing  more  or  less  in  the  utter  desola- 
tion that  had  come  on  the  adjoining  country,  the 
theatre  of  the  great  rebellion;  what  with  fugitive 
parties  of  Desmond's  men  flying  thither  from  the 
pursuit  of  their  enemies,  after  sustaining  a  defeat, 
and  the  wanton  outrages  of  their  fierce  English  pur- 
suers, Clancarthy's  country  was  much  impoverished, 


■^ 


10 


MacCaliHT  Mobe;  or, 


I 


and  bis  people  were  indignant  at  the  vacillating?  con« 
duct  of  their  chief,  which  left  them  thus  exposed,  so 
to  say,  between  two  fires. 

Things  could  not  go  on  in  this  way.  There  came 
a  time  when  the  Earl  of  Clancarthy  found  it  neces- 
sary to  justify  himself  to  the  government,  and  to 
disclaim  by  letter  all  connection  with  his  unfortunate 
relative,  then  reduced  to  the  last  extremity.  His 
letter  of  excuse  and  submission  was  graciously  re- 
ceived ;  he  was  ostentatiously  admitted  to  renewed 
favor,  but  his  country  was  immediately  placed 
under  English  protection,  viz : — the  gentle  care  of 
such  men  as  Sir  Warham  St.  Leger,  and  the  military 
authorities  generally.  Still  the  land  was  nominally  his 
own,  his  renewed  submission  of  it  and  himself  to  the 
Queen  having  saved  it  from  the  claws  of  the  vultures 
who  were  in  those  evil  days  ever  hovering  over  the 
"  countries,"  of  the  great  Irish  lords. 

Now,  this  lirst  Earl  of  Clancarthy  had,  at  this 
time,  but  one  legitimate  child  remaining,  a  daughter 
who  was  still  under  twenty,  and  of  such  goodly 
presence  as  might  be  expected  from  the  daughter  of 
MacCarthy  More,  and  the  niece  of  the  princely  Ger- 
aldine.  Trained  by  her  lady  mother  in  the  womanly 
accomplishments  befitting  her  rank,  Lady  Ellen  Mac- 
Carthy had  grown  up  to  early  womanhood  in  the 
seclusion  of  her  father's  chief  castle  of  Pallioe  on 
the  lovely  banks  of  the  Laune,  in  the  romantic  soli- 
tudes of  Killarney,  close  by  the  Lower  Lake. 

A  few  short  years  before,  and  a  bright-faced  boy, 


Thb  Furtunrs  of  an  Ibisu  Cuief. 


1] 


her  young  brother,  had  bounded  over  tlie  Kerry  hiila 
by  lier  side,  in  tlie  beauty  and  freshness  of  early 
youth,  givhig  promise  of  a  noble  manliood.  Now  he 
was  gone,  and  she  was  alone,  alone  with  her  aged 
mother,  and  their  attendants  in  that  far  lonely  fortress 
by  the  sweet  Laune  side.  The  fate  of  that  young 
son  of  Clancarthy,  the  Baron  of  Valentia,  is  so  sadly 
illustrative  of  those  strange  and  turbulent  times  that 
we  will  be  pardoned  for  digressing  from  our  main 
subject  while  we  relate  it. 

It  was  the  practice  of  the  English  government  to 
demand  hostages  from  the  native  chiefs  whose  loyalty 
was  not  sufficiently  well  assured.  It  so  happened, 
therefore,  that  when  first  the  Earl  of  Clancarthy  be- 
came an  object  of  suspicion  to  the  Queen's  otlicers, 
in  her  happy  and  prosperous  kingdom  of  Ireland, 
his  wife  and  son  were  demanded,  and  accordingly 
given  by  Donald  as  hostages  for  his  good  and  duti- 
ful behavior  in  regard  to  his  gentle  liege  Elizabeth. 
The  Countess  was,  after  a  while,  restored  to  her 
home,  but  the  son  and  heir  of  MacCarthy  More  was 
kept  in  durance  vile.  From  England,  whither  ho 
was  first  sentp  the  young  Baron  was  brought  to 
Dublin  Castle.  He  had  not  been  long  in  that  gloomy 
abode,  the  shadow  of  whose  massive  towers  falls 
darkly  over  the  history  of  the  Irish  race,  when, 
wonderful  to  relace,  he  escaped  and  made  his  way 
to  France.  How  a  mer3  boy,  like  Clancarthy's  son, 
could  have  eluded  the  vigilance  of  his  keepers,  and, 
in   defiance   of  bolts  and  bars,  elTected  his  escape 


12 


MacCartuy  More;  ob, 


was  a  problem  that  puzzled  every  one  except  those 
who  were  in  the  secret,  whoever  they  might  be.  The 
Earl  stoutly  denied  all  knowledge  of  the  aftair,  and 
was,  or  aftected  to  be,  full  as  angry  as  any  of  the 
functionaries  whose  agreeable  duty  it  was  to  commu- 
nicate the  strange  tidings  to  their  amiable  sovereign 
beyond  seas.  All  the  information  that  could  be  gath- 
ered on  the  subject  was  that  "one  William  Barry,'' 
no  doubt  a  foster  brother  of  the  vounff  Baron,  or  an 
attached  follower  of  his  house, — had  "  enticed  and 
conveyed  away  the  young  Lord  of  Valentia,  the  Earl 
of  Clancarty's  son,"  out  of  her  majesty's  realm  of 
Ireland.  If  the  Earl  was  at  all  privy  to  his  sou's 
abduction,  then  must  bis  powers  of  dissimulation 
have  been  greater  than  was  generally  supposed, 
for,  even  in  presence  of  Elizabeth  herself,  he  persist- 
ently denied  all  knowledge  of  hov/'  it  had  taken 
place,  and  declared  himself  much  aggrieved  by  the 
spiriting  away  of  his  son. 

Whether  the  Earl  w^as  sincere  in  his  protestations, 
or  that  he  was  only  acting  a  part,  the  drama,  as  re- 
garded his  son,  was  speedily  brought  to  a  close.  The 
story  is  as  touching  as  it  is  brief.  A  very  short  time 
after  the  mysterious  escape  of  the  boy-Baron,  poor 
Barry  was  discovered  in  the  Earl's  country,  in  the 
disguise  of  a  boL^gar,  and  being  arrested,  by  the 
Earl's  own  order,  and  sent  to  Dublin,  the  i'aithful 
fellow  confessed  that  he  had  ventured  back  to  Ire- 
land for  the  purpose  of  obtaining  some  means  of 
Bubsistence  for  the  young  lord.      Alas  I  for  the  deli* 


V 
■'.ji 

'.I 


Tub  Fortunrs  of  an  Irish  Cuibf. 


13 


cately-nurtured  boy,  in  whose  veins  floweJ  the  blood 
of  two  princely  houses  I  Never  again  did  he  behold 
his  humble  friend,  nor  was  any  relief  sent  him  to  the 
strange  land  where  his  wayward  fortune  had  cast 
him  lone  and  helpless.  Barry  was  kept  in  prison, 
and  a  few  months  alter  the  news  reached  Ireland 
that  "the  voung  Baron  of  Valentia  had  died  in 
France."  So  ended  the  brief  record  of  his  life.  And 
so  it  was  that  Lady  Ellen  MacCarthy  became  heiress 
apparent  of  the  vast  possesKsions  of  her  house,  if  not 
of  her  father's  new  title,  to  which  neither  he  nor  any 
of  his  people  attached  much  importance.  MacCarthy 
More^  or,  the  great  MacCarthy  was  his  far  prouder 
title,  because  it  was  that  which  his  ancestors  had 
borne  for  many  ages,  and  it  was  also  that  by  which 
he  ruled  his  broad  domains. 

But  alas  for  the  poor  Countess ;  as  though  the  loss 
of  her  only  sou,  her  bright,  bold  boy,  under  such 
hard  circumstances,  were  not  sorrow  enough  for  her 
already  broken  spirit,  the  news  of  his  death  made 
anythmg  but  a  favorable  change  in  the  Earl.  From 
that  day  forward  he  threw  off  all  restraint,  indulged 
his  evil  habits  more  than  ever,  and  became  utterly 
regardless  of  consequences.  In  order  to  raise  money 
for  his  riotous  course  of  living,  he  mortgaged  large 
tracts  of  land,  and  with  them  some  ot  his  castles, 
to  the  great  disgust  of  the  friends  of  his  house,  and 
the  grief  of  his  immediate  relatives. 

Amongst  those  to  whom  the  reckless  chieftain 
had  mortgaged  some  of  his  lands  was  a  certain  Sir 


msm 


14 


MacCartuy  Mork;  or, 


Valentine  Brown,  an  Englishman  by  birth,  a  Bur- 
veyorby  profession,  and  an  undertaker  of  confiscated 
Irish  property,  by  favor  of  her  high  mightiness,  Queen 
Elizabeth.  Sir  Valentine  Brown  was  a  sharp,  shrewd 
man,  and  the  Earl  of  Clancarthy  was  by  all  men 
considered  a  very  shallow  and  heedless  one ;  it  was, 
therefore,  prognosticated  on  all  sides  that  the  keen- 
witted surveyor,  having  once  got  a  footing  within 
the  territory  of  MacCarthy  More,  by  grants  of  the 
confiscated  lands  of  some  minor  chiefs,  "  executed  for 
treasonable  acts,"  would  undoubtedly  carve  a  fortune 
for  himself  out  of  the  expected  ruin  of  Clancarthy. 
It  would  be  now  considered  a  triflino:  sum  that 
Brown  had  advanced  to  the  Earl, — being  consider- 
ably under  one  thousand  pounds, — yet  for  that  pal- 
try sum  Brown  had  received  actual  possession  of  a 
fine  property  called  MolahifF,  worth  £1,000  a  year, 
the  profits  of  which  he  was  to  enjoy  until  such  time 
as  the  money  advanced  was  paid  back,  which  the 
Earl  had  reserved  the  right  of  doing.  A  great  eye- 
sore to  the  whole  Clan  Carthy  was  this  thriving 
English  settlement  at  Molahiff  in  the  very  heart  of 
MacCarthy  More's  country.  Valentine  had  built  him- 
self a  strong  English  house  with  a  spacious  barn  at- 
tached, and  made  many  other  improvements  that 
went  to  show  how  little  idea  he  had  of  the  place  be- 
ing ever  restored  to  the  original  owner. 

The  winter  of  1587-8  was  drawing  to  a  close  when 
the  tidings  spread  abroad  that  the  Ei*rl  of  Clancarthy 
was  about  "  to  prefer  his  daughter  in  marriage,"— as 


Turn   li'oKTUNKS  OF   AN   IkISH    CuIEV. 


15 


the  quaint  phraseology  of  the  day  expressed  it.  Here 
was  news  for  the  unmarried  amongst  the  noblemen 
and  gentlemen  of  Munster  !  The  young  and  hand, 
some  heiress  of  the  princely  MacCarthy  More  was  lo 
be  given  in  marriage,  to  wnom  no  one  knew,  as  yet. 
The  prize  was  so  rich,  so  tempting,  that  many  would 
fain  have  tried  to  win  it,  but  it  was  only  the  noblest 
in  the  land  who  could  aspire  to  the  hand  of  the  Lady 
Ellen  MacCarthy. 

All  at  once  a  strange  rumor  went  about,  startling 
alike  friend  and  foe  of  MacCarthy  More,  and  making 
the  blood  of  every  one  who  bore  his  name  boil  with 
imlignation.  The  Earl  had  made  choice  of  a  son-iu- 
law,  and  of  all  the  men  in  Ireland  who  should  he  be 
but  Nicholas  Brown,  the  low-born  son  of  the  English 
surveyor !  The  young  heiress  who  was  to  transmit 
to  future  ages  the  blood,  if  not  the  name  of  a  long 
line  of  princely  ancestors, — whose  hand  no  English 
nobleman  would  have  dared  to  solicit,  fearing  the 
Queen's  displeasure, — for  the  Queen's  pleasure  was 
known  to  be,  as  her  deputy  Sir  Henry  Sydney  had 
expressed  it,  *'  the  dissipation,^^  that  is  to  say,  the 
"  breaking  up"  of  the  territories  of  the  great  Irish 
lords.  The  possessions  of  the  Earl  of  Clancarthy 
were  so  vast  that  he  would  have  been  a  bold  man  in- 
deed, were  he  tJie  first  noble  in  the  realm,  who  would 
venture  to  ask  the  hand  of  their  future  lady  from  the 
Queen  of  England.  Sir  Thomas  Norreys,  President  of 
Munster,  had  entertained  some  thoughts  of  making 
Buch  application,  advised  thereto  by  his  friend,  Sir 


: 


16 


MaoOabthy  Mobb;  OB, 


Warham  St.  Leger.  But  to  think  of  Nicolas  Browne 
carrying  off  the  richest  prize  on  Irish  ground  ! 

If  the  announcement  of  the  Earl's  singular  choice 
so  astonished  the  very  English  officials  themselves 
what  must  have  been  the  feelings  of  the  whole  Clan- 
earthy,  through  Carbery,  Muskerry,  and  Desmond  ?* 
A  thrill  of  fiercest  anger  shot  through  every  heart, 
and  on  every  cheek  was  the  flush  of  shame  as  the 
rumor,  low  and  doubting  at  first,  becoming  louder 
and  more  confident  as  time  went  on,  reached  the  ears 
of  young  and  old,  of  high  and  low,  that  MacCarthy 
More  "was  selling  his  daughter,  for  money,  to 
Valentine  Browne's  son."  This  capped  the  climax, 
and  many  a  fierce  clansman,  grasping  the  handle  of 
his  skene,  swore  within  himself  the  base  English 
churl  should  never  wed  MacCarthy's  daughter. 

But  all  this  time  what  effect  had  the  news  on 
Lady  Ellen  herself  and  her  lady  motlier,  in  their  lone 
dwelling  by  the  lake  shore  ?  Overwhelmed  were 
they  both  by  the  strange  tidings  which  the  Earl  him- 
self had  conveyed  to  them  in  his  rough,  despotic  way, 
curtly  and  sternly, — then,  as  if  to  deprive  them  of 
the  opportunity  of  endeavoring  to  shake  his  resolu- 
tion, he  set   out  at  once  for  London, — for  '*the 


•  Carbery  waa  the  country  of  MacCarthy  Reagh  ;  Mus- 
kerry of  another  great  chief  of  the  MacCarthy's,  and  Desmond, 
called  *•  Desmond  Proper,"  was  the  MacCarthy  More'a  own 
country,  long  contested  between  those  powerful  chieftains  and 
the  southern  Geraldines,  whose  palatinate  of  Desmond  em- 
braced a  still  larger  tract  of  country  in  Cork,  Limerick,  anrt 
Waterford.    Desmond  Proper  was  in  Kerry. 


Tns  Fortunes  of  an  Irish  Cuikf. 


IT 


^ 


Court,"  as  the  phrase  wefat  in  those  days.  It  is 
probable  that  Earl  Donald  had  other  reasons  for  go- 
ing to  London  at  that  particular  time, — he  feared, 
and  not  without  reason,  the  anger  of  his  sept,  and  he 
had  not  the  courage  to  brave  the  storm. 

His  absence,  however,  gave  little  concern  to  the 
noble  lady  whom  he  had  never  treated  as  became  a 
*  wife,  and  the  daughter  whose  bright  youth  he  was 
blighting,  the  daughter  whose  earliest  recollections 
were  darkened  by  his  unkindness  to  herself,  his  neg- 
lect, and  ill-treatment  of  her  mother. 

Many  an  hour  did  the  Countess  and  her  daughter 
spend  in  sad  repining  over  the  new  misfortune  that 
awaited  them,  and  in  eager  consultation  with  the 
few  trusty  friends  they  had  near  them,  as  to  whether 
anything  could  be  done  to  avert  the  blow.  Of  these 
friends  the  most  honored  and  honorable,  both  from 
age  and  position,  was  O'Sullivan  More,  the  first  in 
rank  in  MacCarthy's  country,  and  hereditary  marshal 
of  his  house.  Dark  grew  the  chieftain's  brow  as  his 
eye  rested  on  the  girlish  form  of  the  Lady  Ellen 
where  she  stood  in  the  deep  embrasure  of  a  narrow 
splayed  window  looking  pensively  out  on  the  sunlit 
mountains  of  Killarney,  while  he  and  her  mother  dis- 
cussed in  a  low  voice  a  stop  he  had  been  proposing. 
Her  face  bore  already  the  stamp  of  sorrow,  sad  to 
see  in  one  so  young,  and  her  voice  when  she  spoke 
had  a  tremulous  tone  very  different  from  its  merry 
ring  but  a  few  short  months  before. 

"  Before  God,  Countess !  it  shall  not  be !"  said  O'Sul* 


if^ 


*mm 


mmma 


18 


MagOabtht  Mobi;  ob, 


tivan  with  stern  emphasis,  speaking  in  the  language 
of  the  country  as,  amongst  themselves,  all  the  Irish 
then  did,  even  those  of  them,  and  they  were  comp»r' 
atively  few,  who  had  learned  to  speak  in  the  Saxon 
tongue.  "  Foul  shame  it  were  that  the  blood  of  the 
Geraldines  and  the  MacCarthys  should  ever  be  min- 
gled with  that  of  the  Brownes.  You  must  e'en  do 
as  I  say,  end  perchance  it  will  avail  us  somewhat." 

"  Pray  God  it  may,  Sir  Owen  !'*  said  the  Countess 
with  a  heavy  sigh. 

"  It  were  well  to  do  it  quickly,"  said  O'SuUivan, 
"  if  we  would  have  good  come  of  it.  MacCarthy  once 
returned,  we  can  do  nothing." 

"To-morrow,  then,  let  it  be  I  Alas  !  I  fear  it  will 
nought  avail.  Surely  the  hand  of  God  is  heavy  on 
our  house  1" 

"  Say  not  so,  Honora  Fitz-James  !"t  said  O'SuUi- 
van solemnly ;  "  if  there  is  power  in  Clan  Carthy  to 
prevent  it,  this  gieat  grief  shall  not  come  upon  the 
daughter  of  the  Geraldines.  Be  of  good  heart, 
Honora  ;  for  if  this  plan  should  fail,  we  will  try  an- 
other that  cannot  fail.  I  will  now  rejoin  the  chief- 
tains in  the  hall.  They  are  sorely  troubled  about 
this  matter,  and  have  come  hither  to  know  from  your 
ladyship  whether  anything  can  be  done  to  prevent 
this  accursed  marriage." 

f  It  was  the  custom  amongst  the  Irish  and  Anglo-Irish  to 
call  the  wife  by  her  own  family  name.  So  this  lady  being 
the  daughter  of  James,  tlie  fifteenth  Earl  of  Desmond,  was 
called  by  her  father's  name.  In  the  rural  districts  of  Ireland 
this  custom  still  prevails  amongst  the  old  families. 


ASi^r-xWi 


Tqb  Fortunes  '^f  an  Irisu  Cuibf. 


m 


"  Greet  them  well  from  rae,"  said  the  Countess,  her 
hollow  check  flushing  for  a  moment,  "tell  them  they 
are  welcome  to  Pa  11  ice  Castle,  and  hid  them  to  the 
feast  this  evening.  In  the  absence  of  MacCarthy,  I 
pray  you.  Sir  Owen,  take  the  chief  place.  Say  to 
the  chiefs  that  my  daughter  and  I  are  with  them  in 
heart,  and  hope  to  thank  them  in  person  to-morrow 
for  their  friendship  in  this  hour  of  sorest  need." 

"  Sweet  Ellen,"  said  the  chieftain,  approaching  the 
younger  lady  and  laying  his  hand  on  her  shoulder 
with  the  paternal  familiarity  warranted  by  his  age, 
and  rank,  and  long  tried  friendsliip  to  her  house ; 
"  sweet  Ellen  !  why  so  sad  ?  Cheer  thee  up,  fair 
flower  of  Killarney  !  all  is  not  lost  that  is  in  danger. 
Nicolas  Brown  shall  never  put  ring  on  the  daughter 
of  MacCarthy  More.  Better  a  minstrel  of  Clan  Carthy 
than  an  English  undertaker." 

The  young  lady  started, — a  deep  crimson  flush 
suffused  her  iace,  and  she  raised  her  eyes  with  a 
questioning  look  to  the  chieftain's  face.  O'Sullivan 
nodded  and  smiled, but  nothing  more  he  said;  shak- 
ing the  fair  Ellen  by  the  hand,  and  bowing  respect- 
fully to  both  ladies,  he  left  the  room. 

The  Countess  soon  after  retired  to  her  oratory, 
where  many  of  her  hours  were  spent  in  fervent 
prayer  for  the  living  and  the  dead.  Alas  !  how  few 
were  the  living  who  still  had  a  place  in  the  heart  oi 
the  prematurely-aged  lady  of  Clancailhy,  but  how 
many  of  the  dead  of  her  race,  the  martyred  dead, 
were  before  her  sorrowful  mind  in   those   tranquil 


20 


MacCartht  MORXJ  ou, 


hours  of  prayer.  Her  three  brothers,  Gerald,  John, 
and  James,  had  all  died  in  the  cause  of  Ireland  and 
the  faith, — the  former,  the  great  rebel  Earl  of  Des- 
mond in  hoary  age  in  a  Kerry  cabin ;  the  latter  in 
early  manhood  on  a  Cork  gibbet,  and  the  bodies  of 
all  three  had  swung  in  chains  in  Irish  air  tijl  they 
mouldered  to  dust,  while  their  heads  bleached  in 
summer  sun  and  winter  snow  on  the  top  of  English 
spears,  the  object  of  English  scorn  and  derision. 
Oh,  Countess  of  Clancarthy,  how  hard  was  it  for  you 
to  pray  for  jour  enemies,  the  enemies  of  your  faith. 
That  you  did  so  we  are  w^ell  assured,  and  high  must 
be  your  place,  daughter  of  the  martyred  Geraldines, 
in  the  glory  of  your  Lord  ! 

Left  thus  alone.  Lady  Ellen  retired  to  her  own 
apartments  in  one  of  the  towers  of  the  Castle.  There 
her  maids  were  in  waiting,  but  passing  them  with  a 
gentle  smile  where  they  sat  at  work  in  her  ordinary 
sitting-room,  some  wdth  the  needle,  some  with  the 
distaff,  she  retired  to  a  small  room  that  would  now 
be  called  her  boudoir^  then  in  minstrel  parlance  her 
"  bower,"  occupying  one  angle  of  the  Castle  keep. 
There  she  threw  herself  on  the  carved  oaken  seat 
that  occupied  the  recess  of  the  one  narrow  window 
the  room  contained,  and  sat,  while  the  yellow  sun 
went  down,  looking  listlessly  out  on  those  scenes  so 
lovely  and  so  familiar,  which  could  charm  her  eyes 
no  more. 

What  was  the  strange  emotion  that,  like  the  rippel 
on  a  stream,  played  over  her  dark  Spanish  features. 


Tub  Fortunks  of  an  Irish  Chief. 


21 


usually  haughty  in  repose  ?  What  was  the  thought 
that  brought  the  light  to  her  tear-dinimed  eyes,  and 
the  blood  to  her  pallid  cheek  ?  Of  whom,  or  of 
what  was  the  Lady  Ellen  thinkinLC  that  evenine:  hour 
iu  her  darkening  tower  chamber?  Surely  her 
thoughts  were  not  of  Nicholas  Browne,  the  survey- 
or's son  of ^loUahiff! 

The  shadows  crept  over  the  highest  mountains 
that  kept  watch  over  the  placid  waters ;  the  sun  had 
long  since  faded  from  Tore  and  Toomies,  and  the 
Eagle's  Nest,  and  the  woody  steeps  of  Glena  were 
enveloped  in  the  grey  mists  that  curled  upwards 
from  the  lakes  and  islands ;  still  Ellen  sat  in  a  rev- 
erie that,  judging  by  her  face,  was  not  all  of  sorrow. 
The  parting  words  of  O'Sullivan  had  struck  one  chord 
in  her  heart  that  was  not  of  sadness. 

As  the  stars  came  out  in  heaven,  and  the  darkness 
gathered  round,  the  silken  tapestry  wdiich  hung 
within  the  doorway  was  gently  raised,  and  a  timid 
girlish  face  peeped  in;  it  was  that  of  Una,  Lady 
Ellen's  favorite  attendant. 

"  Does  my  lady  wish  a  light  ?"  she  softly  asked. 

"  Not  yet,"  her  lady  replied  ;  "  but  bring  my  harp, 
and  stay !" — 

"  It  is  almost  dark !"  whispered  the  attendant,  as 
she  placed  the  instrument  before  her  mistress. 

"  Not  so  dark  as  my  soul,  Una  O'Leary  !"  was  the 
dreary  answer ;  **  but  listen  now  while  I  play,  and 
tell  me  if  you  know  this  air." 

It  was  not  an  Irish  melody  that  flowed  from  be- 


MacCarthy  Mork;  or, 

ncath  the  lady's  taper  fingers  after  phe  had  played  a 
wild  sweet  prelude.  It  was  a  Spanish  air,  one  of 
those  serenades  both  gay  and  tender,  which  were 
then  as  now,  distinctly  characteristic  of  the  old  Iber- 
ian music.  The  strain  was  repeated  a  second  time, 
and  still  Una  was  silent;  all  at  once,  however,  she 
chipped  her  tiny  hands,  and  said  with  sudden  anima- 
tion— 

"  I  know  it,  Lady  Ellen,  I  know  it  now.     It  is" — 
"  Speak  lower,  little  Una !  while  you  tell  me  I" 
"  It  is  the  same  that  we  heard  that  foreign  minstrel 
play  in  a  boat  one  night  near  Dunkerron  Castle." 

**  I  am  glad  to  find  that  I  play  it  correctly,"  said 
the  lady,  in  a  voice  which  she  vainly  strove  to  keep 
from  trembling.  "  I  have  often  tried  it  since,  it 
pleased  me  so  much  then." 

She  then  dismissed  her  attendant,  and  went  to  join 
her  lady-mother,  in  whose  apartments  theii  evening 
meal  was  served. 

That  over,  the  Countess  and  her  daughter  sat  to- 
gether conversing  in  low  tones  on  the  all-absorbing 
topic  of  the  EarPs  traffic  with  the  Brownes.  Chilled 
and  broken  as  was  the  Lady  Clancarthy's  spirit  by  the 
manifold  sorrows  of  her  life,  a  spark  of  the  old  fire 
was  kindled  in  her  heart  by  the  last  crowning  indig- 
nity offered  by  her  unworthy  husband  to  he^  blood 
as  well  as  his  own.  Christian  woman  as  she  was, 
and  chastened  by  sore  affliction,  she  could  not  behold 
unmoved  the  disgrace  that  threatened  two  noble 
houses  should  the  heiress  of  MacCarthy  More  becomo 


I 


I. 


TlIK    FoUTUNES   OF    AN    IllU'^II    ClIIEF. 

tlie  wife  of  a  man  who  was,  in  lior  regard,  little  better 
tlian  a  menial. 

"  I  tell  thee  my  danghter,"  said  the  prematurely- 
aged  matron,  "  I  would  sooner  sec  thee  dead  and  laid 
in  the  tomb  of  the  MacCartliys,  than  see  thee  wedded 
to  that  Saxon  churl !" 

"  And  I  would  rather  die  an  hundred  times,  mother 
mine,"  replied  Lady  Ellen,  with  unwonted  energy, 
"  than  bring  such  foul  disgrace  on  your  name  and 
mine.  Better  far  the  tomb  in  Mucruss  Abbey  than 
the  Btone-w  |i  house  at  Molahifi'." 

Thus  the  .aother  and  daughter  talked  while  the 
night  wore  on,  and  the  sounds  of  music  and  joyous 
revelry  came  softened  from  the  hall  far  below,  where 
the  chiefs  of  Clan  Carthy  were  seated  round  the  fes- 
tive board,  pledging  each  other  in  Spanish  wine,  and 
vowing  to  protect  at  all  hazards,  the  fair  daughter  of 
MacCarthy  from  the  degradation  to  which  her  mean- 
spirited  father  would  ruthlessly  consign  her.  Hope 
seemed  to  revive  in  the  hearts  of  mother  and  daugh- 
ter as  the  loud-spoken  words  were  borne  to  their 
ears,  and  with  lightened  hearts  they  knelt  to  offer 
their  nightly  orisons  to  God  above. 


u 


M 


MacCarthy  Morb;  ob, 


CHAPTER  11. 

Next  morning  there  was  the  bustle  of  departure  in 
the  court-yard  of  the  Palace.  While  the  earliest  sun- 
beams gilt  the  mountain-tops,  and  KilJarney'e  Lakes 
and  the  Laune  river  slept  in  shade,  saddle-girths  were 
being  tightened,  and  a  band  of  MacCarthy's  gallow- 
glasses  stood  ready  to  mount  their  liorses,  to  escort 
the  wife  and  daughter  of  their  chief  on  a  visit  they 
prosposed  making.  The  court-yard,  or  rather  the 
*'  bawn,"  presented  a  gay  scene  that  bright  spring 
morning.  It  was  full  of  armed  men,  for  with  the  fol- 
lowers of  MacCarthy  More,  were  mingled  those  of 
the  other  cliieftains  who  had  staid  in  the  castle  over 
night.  There  were  O'Sullivans  from  the  mountain 
coasts  bordering  on  Bantry  and  Berehaven,  O'Don- 
oghoes  from  the  hills  and  glens  and  the  Lake  shores, 
O'Learys,  and  O'Mahons,  MacAuliffes,  MacDonoghs 
and  O'Driscolls  from  the  fertile  plains  of  Cork,  each 
bearing  the  well-known  cognizance  of  his  chief  em- 
broidered on  the  short  cloak,  or  cotta,  which  formed 
the  outer  garment  of  those  Irish  soldiers.  While  the 
kerns  and  gallowglasses  chatted  merrily  amongst 
themselves,  and  the  horse-boys,  holding  the  horses  of 
the  several  chiefs,  awaiting  their  appearance  from 
the  castle,  amused  themselves  with  playing  off  prac- 
tical jokes  at  the  expense  of  the  long-haired  clans- 
p^en  around  them,  a  far  4iffereDt  scene  was  going  for- 


I 


The  Fortunes  of  an  Irisu  Cuief. 


26 


L^ 


ward  within  the  castle,  where,  in  the  privacy  of  Lady 
Clancarthy's  oratory,  wuth  only  the  Countess,  her 
daughter,  and  their  attendants,  for  a  congregntion, 
the  holy  Sacrifice  of  the  ]Mas8  was  being  offered  up 
by  a  venerable  priest,  whoso  snow-white  locks  and 
furrowed  cheeks  were  more  from  sorrow  and  suffer- 
ing than  from  age. 

A.  strange  and  awful  thing  it  was  that  in  those 
stormy  days  of  religious  persecution  it  was  a  capital 
oftence  to  celebrate  Mass,  and  almost  as  great  a  one 
to  assist  at  its  celebration.  Hence  it  was  that  the 
chapels  originally  attached  to  the  feudal  castles  of 
the  chiefs  had  fallen  into  disuse,  ever  since  the  inaus- 
picious reign  of  Henry  VIII.,  and  the  priests  who 
ventured  to  remain  in  the  country  secretly  harbored 
in  the  dwellings  of  the  Catholic  lords  and  gentry, or 
hiding,  with  the  ingenious  aid  of  the  faithful  people  of 
the  country,  in  caves  and  vaults,  and  other  secret 
places,  might  only  say  Mass  by  stealth,  with  every 
precaution  agahist  discovery.  As  in  the  present  in- 
stance, it  was  not  deemed  expedient  to  celebrate 
Mass  publicly,  oven  in  the  castle  of  MacCarthy  More, 
fearing  lest  one  of  the  "meaner  sort"  might  be 
tempted  by  the  large  reward  offereu  for  the  appre- 
hension of  a  priest,  or  any  information  concerning 
the  solemnization  of  those  "  Popish  rites,"  which 
were  amongst  the  highest  crimes  known  to  those  Tu- 
dor laws. 

No  sunbeam  glanced  through  stained  window  on 
priest  or  altar  that  day  in  Pallice  (Castle  j  the  room 


i     .1 


}  i 


26 


MacCabtiiy  More;  or, 


in  M'hicb  alone  the  Countess  of  Clancarthy  might 
daro  to  have  an  altar  erected  was  small  and  dark, 
within  the  thickness  of  the  massive  wall,  as  even  tlie 
sleeping  apartments  ordinarily  were  in  those  ancient 
castles  of  ihe  Irish  chiefs. 

Mass  over,  the  priest  retired  to  the  inner  chamber, 
connected  with  the  Oratory  by  a  long  and  narrow 
passage,  known  but  to  few,  where  his  days  and  nights 
were  spent  during  the  Earl's  absence, — for  it  was 
only  during  his  absence  that  the  holy  man  was  per- 
mitted to  remain  within  the  walls,  so  great  was  tho 
chieftain's  dread  of  drawino-  down  on  himself  the 
terrible  anger  of  Elizabeth,  by  harboring  a  "  Po]»ish 
priest." 

A  little  while  after  the  Countess  and  her  daughtcf 
were  standing  in  the  hall  below,  receiving  the  re- 
spectful salutations  of  the  chiefs,  and  exchanging 
with  them  those  friendly  greetings  which  marked  tlio 
social  intercourse  of  the  great  feudal  families  and 
the  tributary  chiefs  who  were  allied  by  blood  to  their 
respective  houses.  With  their  whole  figures  enve- 
loped in  the  large  loose  cloaks  worn  by  the  ladies  of 
those  days  when  travelling,  the  large  ridhig  hoods 
thrown  back,  revealing  the  haggard,  care-worn  face 
of  the  elder  lady, — like  some  classic  ruin,  noble  even 
in  decay, — and  the  bright,  though  dark  features  of 
the  younger,  subdued,  and  pale  and  pensive,  yet 
lovely  still,— the  mother  and  daughter  stood,  sur- 
rounded bv  the  warrior  chiefs,  come  of  whom  wore 
already  gray  and  old,  others  fresh  and  buoyant  as 


L 


I 


m 


Tub  Fortunes  o»  an  Irish  Chief. 


27 


V 


the  young  deer  of  Killarney's  woods,  when  startmg 
on  their  course,  all  bending  with  chivalrous  homage 
before  the  wile  and  daughter  of  MacCarthy.  It  was, 
in  sooth,  a  goodly  picture,  its  effect  heightened  by  the 
antique  features  of  the  ancient  hall,  its  trophies  of 
war  and  chase,  its  spears,  and  shields,  and  banners, 
intermingled,  here  and  there,  with  the  huge  antlers 
of  the  red  deer  that  even  then  made  their  home  in 
the  Kerry  forests. 

The  salutations  over,  O'SuUivan  announced  to  the 
ladies  that  some  of  their  friends  meant  to  accompany 
them ; "  these  times  are  not  safe.  Dame  Honora,"  said 
the  Kerry  chieftain,  with  a  grim  smile,  "  there  might 
be  some  between  this  and  Cork  who  would  deem  it 
a  good  day's  work  to  seize  the  wife  and  daughter  cf 
MacCarthy  More,  in  which  case,"  he  added  signifi- 
cantly, "  Donald  MacCarthy  might  have  to  mort- 
gage some  more  land  to  the  Brownes  to  provide  a 
ransom." 

The  ladies  being  only  too  glad  to  accept  the  friend- 
ly escort,  they  were  soon  mounted  on  their  palfreys, 
and  the  gallant  cavalcade  set  forward  at  a  round 
pace,  taking  the  Kenmare  road. 

Some  hours  after,  while  the  day  was  still  young, 
the  ladies  of  Clancarthy  alighted  from  their  palfreys 
at  the  door  of  Shandon  Castle,  where  Sir  War- 
ham  St.  Legcr,  the  Queen's  general,  then  had  his 
abode.  A  stern  old  soldier  was  Sir  Wa^-ham  St. 
Leger,  one  of  the  last  to  whom  a  gentle  lady,  espe- 
cially a  lady  of  Irish  blood,  would  look  for  sympathy 


m 


28 


MacCartuy  More;  oR| 


/ 


and  counsel  in  such  a  case,  yet  it  was  precisely  to 
him  that  the  Countess  of  Chxncarthy  and  her  daugh- 
ter had  recourse. 

In  less  troublous  times  it  would  have  been  strange 
to  see  these  noble  ladies,  with  the  Irish  gentlemen 
who  accompanied  them,  ushered  througli  files  cf  Eng- 
lish men-at-arms  into  the  j)resence  of  the  Queen's 
chief  captain  in  Munster ;  tiien,  nothing  was  strange 
in  Ireland,  for  the  simple  reason  that  the  strangest 
things  were  so  constantly  occurring,  that  people 
ceased  to  wonder  at  anything. 

Rough  as  the  general  was  by  nature,  he  received 
the  ladies  with  as  much  courtesy  as  could  be  ex- 
pected from  a  man  whose  life  had  been  mostly  spent 
in  camps.  To  O'Suliivan  and  the  other  .chiefs  he  was 
fain  to  be  civil,  all  of  them  being  at  that  particular 
time  "  under  protection." 

"  Your  pleasure.  Countess  ?"  said  St.  Leger,  after 
the  ladies  were  seated  in  the  old  fortress  hall,  he 
himself  standing  uncovered  before  them,  in  his  well- 
worn  buff  coat  and  slashed  doublet. 

St.  Leger  was  a  mai  of  few  words,  and  Lady  Clan- 
earthy  knew  it. 

*'  We  come.  Sir  Warham  St.  Leger,"  she  replied, "  to 
crave  your  good  offices  with  the  Queen's  highness  in 
regard  to  the  dealings  of  my  lord  and  husband  with 
Sir  Valentine  Browne,  to  whom  he  hath,  as  we  learn 
promised  my  daughter,  the  Lady  Ellen  here  present, 
in  marriage,  for  his  second  son,  Nicholas." 

"  What  fault  does  your  ladyship  find  with  young 


Thk  Fortunes  of  an  Irish  Chief. 


29 


Browne  ?"  said  St.   Lcger  sharply.     "  Sooth  to  say, 
he  iiath  no  Lick  of  lauds  or  livings." 

•'  Not  he,  indeed,"  said  O'SuUivan  More,  promptly 
—he  was  tearful  lest  the  Countess  should  say  sonie- 
thuig  that  might  give  offence  where  it  was  necessary 
to  conciliate;  little  could  be  said  against  the  Brownes 
that  did  not  apply  as  well  to  St.  Leger  himself, — 
*'  "^ot  he,  indeed.  Sir  W'arham  ;  but  you  must  your- 
self admit  that  the  dauujhter  and  heiress  of  Mac- 
Carthy  ]\Iore" — St.  Leger  frowned — "  I  mean  the 
Earl  of  Clancarthy,  ought  to  look  higher  than  Mas- 
ter Nicholas  Browne." 

This  politic  speech  had  its  effect.  "  "What  sayeth 
the  young  lady?"  the  general  asked,  turning  ab- 
ruptly to  the  Lady  Ellen.  *'  Young  Nicholas  Browne 
is  not  to  be  despised  for  a  husband." 

"  I  pray  you.  Sir  Warham,"  said  the  young  lady, 
looking  up  mto  the  old  man's  war-worn  face  with  a 
heightened  color,  and  a  moistened  eye,  "  I  pray  you, 
name  him  not  as  a  husband  for  me.  I  know  you 
have  great  favor  with  the  Queen's  Majesty." — Sir 
Warham  smiled  down  on  the  fair  pleader. — "  Use  it, 
I  entreat  you,  in  our  behalf — for  my  lady  mother 
dislikes  the  match  no  less  than  I  do." 

"  You  speak  well  for  one  so  young,"  said  the  grim 
veteran,  "  I  would  that  our  sovereign  lady,  Elizabeth, 
heard  you  plead  your  cause.  I  warrant  me,  she 
could  not  refuse  the  petition  of  so  fair  a  lady." 

"  There  be  some  who  say,"  whispered  O'Lcary  to 
McDonogh    behind    Sir  Wdrham's   back,   "that  a 


30 


MacCarthy  Mork;  or, 


lady  fair  and  young  would  find  little  favor  in  the 
eyes  of  Elizabeth  Tudor." 

"  It  seemeth  strange  to  us,  Sir  Warham,"  tad  the 
Countess,  with  as  much  composure  as  she  could 
assume,  "that  the  Earl  of  Clancarthy  should  think  of 
bestowing  his  daughter — alas !  his  only  child," — she 
added  with  a  si";h, — "  on  a  gentleman  of  so  little  ac- 
count  as  Master  Browne.  The  gentlemen  of  our 
house,  some  of  whom  you  see  here  present,  are  all 
opposed  to  the  match." 

"Truly,  I  know  that,"  said  Sir  Warham,  testily, 
"  for  I  have  had  letters  from  more  than  one  of  them 
on  the  subject.  I  would  the  matter  w^ere  ended  one 
way  or  the  other." 

"  But  will  you  not  aid  us,  Sir  Warham  ?"  said  the 
Countess,  still  more  earnestly  than  before.  "  Of  a 
surety,  if  you  will  only  make  known  to  the  Queen 
how  much  my  daughter  and  myself  mislike  the 
match,  she  will  be  graciously  pleased  to  consider 
our  case,  and  have  regard  to  the  honor  of  a  noble 
house." 

*'  And  you,  Sir  Owen  O'Sullivan,"  said  the  Gen- 
eral, in  his  abrupt  way,  "  you  and  all  these  gentle- 
men are  of  a  like  mind  with  regard  to  this  matter  ?" 

"Truly  we  are.  Sir  Warham,"  said  the  chieftain, 
speaking  for  the  others ;  "  we  came  hither  in  attend- 
ance on  the  Countess  and  the  young  lady,  but  since 
you  put  the  question,  I  will  tell  you  truly:  there  is 
rot  a  follower  of  tlie  MacCarthy 


»j 


i 


a 


The  Earl  of  Clancarthy,  Sir  Owen  1" 


•' 


Tub  Fortunes  of  an  Irish  Cuibf. 


31 


**  Well,  the  Earl  be  it,  then,— but  be  he  Earl  or 
what  he  may,  he  hath  made  little  of  the  whole  Clan 
Carthy  by  so  much  as  naming  this  Nicholas  Browne 
for  his  daucfhter's  husband.  So  much  are  the  chiefs 
against  it,  that  I  fear  it  will  breed  disturbance  in 
that  country  if  the  thing  be  not  prevented  in  time." 

"  But  I  see  not  how  it  can  be  prevented,"  said  St. 
Leger,  the  cloud  again  gathering  on  his  brow, 
"  neither  you  nor  I  have  any  right  to  go  between  the 
Earl  of  Clancarthy  and  his  own  child." 

"  But  there  is  one  who  has  the  right !"  said  the 
Countess,  eagerly. 

The  veteran  shook  his  head.  "I  know  not  that 
she  will  put  a  stop  to  the  marriage.  Nicholas  Browne 
is  an  English  gentleman  ;  his  father  has,  hi  his  time, 
done  good  service  to  the  Queen's  cause,  for  which 
her  highness  has  seen  fit  to  reward  him  as  became 
her  royal  goodness.  She  will  not  deny  his  son  this 
new  means  of  advancing  his  fortune." 

The  general  was  evidently  becoming  impatient, 
seeing  which,  tlie  Countess  and  her  daughter  rose, 
and  the  elder  lady  said,  with  that  mild  dignity  which 
was  her  characteristic  trait, — 

"  In  which  case,  Sir  Warham,  our  visit  hath  been 
of  no  avail,  and  we  have  but  to  crave  your  pardon 
for  intruding  ourselves  upon  you.  We  will  now 
take  our  leave,  hoping  that  you  will  still  not  refuse 
to  put  in  a  word  with  the  Queen's  highness,  in  regard 
to  this,  our  humble  suit." 

"  Mother,"  said  the  young  lady,  while  the  hot 


ml 


82 


MacCarthy  More;  or, 


blood  of  her  proud  race  mantled  on  her  cheek, 
**  Mother,  we  have  said  enough :  more  were  unbe- 
coming. We  are  not  such  poor  beggars,  but  we  can 
help  ourselves,  if  others  will  not." 

"  Well  said.  Lady  Ellen !"  cried  a  young  chief  of  the 
O'Donoghoes.  "If  your  father  had  a  little  of  your  spir* 
it,  we  need  never  have  been  here  on  such  an  errand." 

A  sardonic  smile  curled  the  lip  of  Queen  Elizabeth's 
officer  as  he  listened  to  these  ebullitions  of  youthful 
feeling;  with  cold  and  formal  courtesy  he  accom- 
panied the  ladies  to  the  door,  and  there  bowed  them 
out,  nodding  carelessly  to  the  chieftains,  who  re- 
turned his  salute  in  the  same  fashion. 

"  Fare  you  well,  Sir  Warham !"  said  O'SuUivan 
More.  "  You  shall  be  bidden  to  Lady  Ellen's  wed- 
ding, an'  she  marries  Nicholas  Browne !" 
•  "  Well !  Sir  Owen,"  said  the  Countess,  as  O'SuUi- 
van rode  up  by  her  side  when  they  had  left  Shandon 
towers  some  distance  behind.  "  Methinks  there  la 
little  hope  in  that  quarter." 

"  Your  thought  is  mine,  dame  Ilonora  !  It  were 
best  not  trust  to  so  frail  a  plank.  We  must  con- 
vey Ellen  to  some  place  of  safety  where  neither 
MacCarthy  nor  the  Brownes  can  reach  her." 

"Alas!  whither  could  we  send  her  that  Donald 
would  not  find  her  out?"  said  the  Countess,  in  a  tone 
of  great  despondency.  "  And  yet  it  breaks  my  heart 
to  think  that  my  poor  Ellen,  the  only  child  that  cruel 
death  has  left  me,  should  marry  a  low-born  English- 
man, and  a  heretic  to  boot  1" 


TuK  Fortunes  of  an  Irish  Cuief. 


88 


"  It  shall  not  be,  HonoraFitz- James,  take  my  "vrord 
for  it  I"  said  O'SuUivan  with  stern  emphasis.  "An' 
Donald  MacCarthy  will  not  listen  to  reason  from  any 
of  us,  we  have  a  right  to  prevent  this  disgrace  from 
coming  upon  us  all,  in  whatever  way  we  can.  I  will 
think  the  matter  over  as  we  ride  home,  and  see  what 
can  be  done." 

The  party  rode  on  in  silence,  each  one  plunged  in 
anxious  thought.  Mid-day  was  past,  and  they  were 
nearing  the  lake  shore,  when,  at  a  sharp  turn  in  the 
mountain-road,  they  encountered  a  small  company  of 
horsemen,  the  foremost  of  whom  was  a  stout,  burly, 
fresh-faced  man  of  some  thirty  years  or  thereabouts, 
clad  in  the  buif  coat  and  doublet  of  the  English  gen- 
tleman of  that  day,  beneath  which  was  the  breast- 
plate and  other  pieces  of  light  armor.  A  steel  mo- 
rion on  the  head  completed  the  gentleman's  cos- 
tume. As  he  rode  in  advance  of  the  others,  they 
were  evidently  his  retainers. 

The  road  being  narrow,  not  more  than  two  horses 
of  either  party  could  pass  abreast,  and  O'SuUivan 
called  out, — "  Fall  back  there,  and  make  way  for  the 
Countess  of  Clancarthy  I" 

"  That  will  I  do  right  willingly,"  said  the  English- 
man, bowing  low  to  the  name,  "  but  not  for  your 
bidding.  Sir  Owen  O'SuUivan.  I  would  have  you 
speak  civilly,  an'  you  speak  to  me." 

"  Small  courtesy  is  due  from  any  here  to  your  fa- 
ther's son,  Nicholas  Browne !"  said  the  chief  haugh- 
tily ;  "  make  way,  I  say  again  I'* 


m 


84 


MacCartuy  More;  oe, 


**  Not  at  your  bidding,  say  I  again,"  returned 
young  Browne  defiantly,  "  though  all  the  O'SuUivans 
in  Kerry  were  at  your  back." 

"  Why  stand  parleying  there,  Sir  Owen?"  called 
out  young  O'Donoghoe  from  behind  ;  *'  ride  on,  and 
let  the  English  churl  take  the  consequences  if  he  will 
not  give  way !" 

Still  Browne  moved  not,  and  his  followers  were 
seen  to  grasp  their  weapons.  Pale  with  terror.  Lady 
Clancarthy  said, — "  for  God's  sake.  Sir  Owen,  let 
him  pass  !" 

"  Ay  I  let  him  pass,  gentlemen  all !"  said  the  fair 
Ellen,  in  English ;  "  it  is  for  you  to  teach  him  what 
is  due  to  ladies.     Fall  back,  friends !" 

"  We  may  not  refuse  you,  Lady  Ellen !"  said  O'Sul- 
livan,  "  the  daughter  of  MacCarthy  commands  here  !" 

The  Irish  gentlemen  immediately  reined  in  their 
horses  at  one  side  the  narrow  mountain  road  to  let 
the  others  pas3,  the  two  ladies  with  cutting  politeness 
doing  the  same.  Browne,  nettled  and  ashamed,  still 
held  back. 

"Lady  Clancarthy,"  he  stammered,  "I  owe  you 
an  apology.  Had  your  ladyship  said  but  a  word,  or 
the  Lady  Ellen,  that  so  I  might  save  mine  honor 
in  recrard  to  O'Sullivan  and  the  others— 


» 


"  I  pray  you  name  it  not.  Master  Browne,"  said 
the  Countess  more  haughtily  than  her  wont.  "  We 
ask  favors  only  of  our  friends ;  we  await  your  pas- 
sage !"  And  she  motioned  him  onwards  with  her 
riding-whip. 


Tub  Fortunes  of  an  Irisu  Cuiirr. 


85 


Seeing  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  move  on, 
Browne  set  spurs  to  his  horse  and  clashed  forward  ; 
as  he  passed  tlie  younger  kidy,  her  horse,  a  spirited 
one,  began  to  prance  restively,  which  Nicholas  see- 
ing stopped,  and  caught  hold  of  the  rein. 

"  Let  go  the  bridle  !"  said  Lady  Ellen,  in  a  tone 
of  authority,  "  I  can  manage  the  liorse  if  you  will 
but  go  on.     Let  go,  I  say  !" 

Chafing  with  anger  and  vexation  the  English 
squire  dropped  the  bridle  and  rode  on,  amid  the  jeers 
and  taunts  of  the  bold  Kerrv  chieftains  who  much 
enjoyed  the  discomfiture  of  the  audacious  aspirant 
to  Ellen's  hand. 

"  So  that  is  Nicholas  Browne  I"  said  the  young 
lady  when  she  had  succeeded  in  quieting  her  pal- 
frey ;  *'  truly,  he  does  credit  to  his  Cither's  fat  beeves. 
A  winsome  knight  is  he  for  lady's  love  I'* 

"  Nay,  sweet  Ellen  !  you  are  cruel !"  said  O'Sulli- 
van,  with  grave  irony,  "  you  forget  that  the  gentle- 
man is  soon  to  be  MacCarthy  More's  son-in-law  I" 

The  young  beauty's  laugh  rang  out  none  the  less 
sweetly  that  it  was  bitter  and  ironical.  •'  He  Mac- 
Carthy More's  son-inlaw !"  she  said  with  an  energy 
that  was  almost  fierce.  *'  That  will  be,  Sir  Owen  ! 
'when  Tore  and  Mangerton  come  together, — when 
Ellen  MacCarthy  forgets  the  blood  that  is  in  her 
veins !" 

"  My  child,"  said  her  gentle  mother,  "  it  is  not  for 
us  to  say  what  ehall  or  shall  not  be.  The  will  of  God 
must  be  done.'* 


i 

4^  •Ml 


'^^ 


86 


MacCartiiy  More;  ob 


"I  know  that,  mother  mine,"  rejoined  her  daugh- 
ter ;  "  but  I  know,  too,  that  Qud  never  willed  a 
daughter  of  yours  to  be  the  wife  of  Nicholas 
Browne.  Let  us  say  no  more  about  him,  dearest 
mother  I  For  me,  I  would  fain  forget  that  such  PS 
he  is  alive  I" 

"  Would  to  God  that  we  could  all  forget  I"  sighed 
the  Countess,  "  but,  alas  I  alas !  we  cannot !" 

After  partaking  of  the  generous  hospitality  of 
Pallice  Castle,  l.ie  chiefs,  with  the  exception  of  O'Sul- 
livan  More,  and  one  or  two  others,  chief  officers  of 
the  Earl's  household,  took  advantage  of  the  bright 
light  of  a  full  moon  to  return  back  to  their  homes. 
It  was  a  cheering  and  a  picturesque  sight,  as  the  la- 
dies stood  on  the  ramparts  of  the  castle  watching 
each  chief  with  his  followers,  riding  successively  out 
from  the  arched  gateway  below,  then  winding  along 
by  the  Lake  shore  till  a  turn  of  the  road  hid  them 
from  view.  It  was  like  a  scene  of  faery ;  and  a 
proud  smile  flitted  over  Ellen's  face  as  she  thought 
that  all  these  noble  gentlemen,  and  many  another, 
called  MacCarthy  lord,  and  were  bound  to  follow 
him  to  the  field.  It  was  a  lonely  night,  and  no 
fairer  scene  did  the  round  moon  gild  on  earth  than 
that  wliich  lay  before  the  eyeB  0/  the  ladies  of  Clan- 
earthy. 

"  Far  in  the  west, 

Where  the  Lake's  blue  breast 

Kepused,  like  an  angel  of  light  at  rest, 

The  rich  rays  there, 

Beemed  epints  of  air, 

That  wanton'd  about  in  thejr  silver  hair.^ 


t 


The  Fortunes  or  an  Irish  Giiibf. 


87 


A 


Then  and  there  it  was  that  the  sagacious  chief  of 
Clan  Sullivan  submitted  to  the  Countess  and  her 
daughter  the  new  plan  he  had  devised  for  defeating 
the  Earl's  unaccountable  project. 

"If  we  find,"  said  he,  "that  nothing  turns  up  to 
prevent  this  marriage  before  Donald's  return,  me« 
thinks  it  were  worth  the  trying,  Dame  Ilonora,  to 
send  our  black  rose  here  straightway  over  the  moun- 
tains to  O'Rc'irke's  country.  In  the  fastnesses  of 
the  Brenny  she  will  be  safe  from  pursuit,  and  Brian 
O'Rourke  is  just  the  man  to  stand  by  a  lady  in  dis- 
tress. What  think  you,  Countess,  and  you,  fair  El- 
len, of  this  notion  of  mine?" 

Both  ladies  agreed  that  the  scheme  was  a  good 
one :  ''  I  know  the  chieftain  of  Brenny,  O'Rourke, 
well,"  said  the  Countess,  "  and  sure  I  am  that  he 
would  protect  my  child  from  ill  as  he  would  his  own 
blood.     The  plan  is  a  good  one,  Sir  Owen  !" 

"  So  it  appears  to  my  poor  judgment.  None  of  ua 
hereabouts  in  Cork  or  Kerry  could  hope  to  keep  the 
young  lady  from  her  father's  knowledge,  whereas 
Brian  O'Rourke  in  liis  far  country  can  do  it,  and  he 
will,  too,  I  know  well." 

"  I  will  send  off  a  trusty  messenger  to  O'Rourke 
to-morrow,"  said  the  Countess,  "  making  our  hard 
case  known  to  him,  and  then,  if  the  worst  happens, 
I  will  send  Ellen's  two  foster-brothers  and  Una 
O'Leary  with  her  to  Dromahaire,*  where  the  chief 
can  dispose  her  in  a  place  of  safety." 

*  Drompiiaire  was,  of  old.  the  chief  seat  of  the  powerfa) 


88 


MacCartiiy  Mokb;  ur, 


**  The  fewer  attcnclants  you  send  there  will  be  the 
less  danger  of  discovery,"  sjiid  O'Sullivan  in  his  dry, 
sententious  way.  "But  I  see  the  moon  is  already 
on  the  wane,  and,  with  your  permission,  gentle  ladies, 
I  will  seek  repose.  I  must  make  an  early  start  to- 
morrow. So  fare  you  well,  ladies,  and  if  any  new 
danger  arise,  you  can  let  me  know  by  a  sure  hand.'* 
Ab  he  passed  wliere  Ellen  stood,  apparently  lost  in 
thought,  the  Chieftain  laid  his  hand  lightly  on  her 
head  for  a  moment  and  whispered — "  I  tell  you  again, 
keep  up  your  heart.  There's  one  I  know  that's  able 
for  MacGarthy  and  the  Brownes.  Never  you 
fear  I" 

Without  -waiting  to  mark  the  effect  of  his  words, 
O'Sullivan  hurried  away,  and  the  ladies  soon  after 
descended  the  narrow  stone  stairs,  within  the  raas- 
hive  walls,  which  led  from  the  ramparts  to  the  inner 
parts  of  the  castle.  This  staiicase  was  lit  by  lamps 
attached  to  the  wall  at  long  intervals.  As  the  two 
dark  robed  figures  descended  the  stairs  with  noiseless 
step,  their  faces  looking  wan  in  the  dim,  uncertain 
light,  they  might  easily  have  been  taken  for  the 
spirits  of  departed  chdtelaines,  doomed  to  wander  for 
a  time  through  the  lone  recesses  of  th'iir  ancient 
dwelling.  Yet  there  was  a  smile  on  Ellen's  lip,  and 
a  bright  light  in  her  eyes  that  spoke  of  re vivmg  hope. 
A  second  time  had  the  words  of  O'Sullivan  More 
recalled  her  from  the  depths  of  despondency. 

chieftains  of  Breffuy  O'Rourke,  now  the  Country  of  Leitrim. 
It  was  a  strong  fortress,  oud  in  troubloufl  times,  withstood 
aome  hard  sieges. 


I 


Tub  FoRTUNKa  ov  an  luieii  Cuikf. 


80 


i 


With  unwonted  fervor  the  maiden  prayed  that 
night,  when  she  knelt  beside  lier  mother  m  the  ora- 
tory,— tliat  God  would  send  Bome  means  of  de- 
livering her  from  the  dark  doom  that  threatened 
to  blight  her  youth'a  fond  hopes,  and  plunge  her  in 
a  sea  of  life-lon<j  misery. 

Dismissing  Una  whom  she  found  waiting  in  her 
chamber,  the  fair  girl  sat  musing  long  on  tlie  chances 
for  and  against  her.  The  moonlight  streamed  in 
from  tha  liigh,  narrow  window.  No  sound  broke  the 
stillnefis  within  or  without,  save  the  heavy,  meas- 
ured tramp  of  the  warder,  as  he  paced  }iis  lonely 
round  on  the  battlements  above,  tlie  shrill  cry  of  the 
eagle  from  the  mountains,  or  the  lone  heron  from  the 
lake's  wooded  shore.  It  was  the  time  of  all  others  for 
a  young  maiden's  heart  to  wander  away  through  the 
land  of  dreams  on  the  winiirs  of  imaf^inalion.  What 
form  was  it  that  flitted  ever  before  hur  mental  vision  ? 
I'^ar  away  it  seemed,  and  indistinctly  seen,  with  no 
light  in  the  cold  eyes,  no  words  of  love  or  kindness 
on  the  lips,  and  yet  it  would  come,  do  as  she  might, 
and  mingle  with  her  evcy  dream  of  the  future. 
Could  there  be  any  connection  between  this  liaunting 
iniasje  and  the  words  of  Sir  Oweri  O'Sullivai  ?  Ellen 
could  hardly  tell.  One  thing  she  knew  ..*."  felt, 
that  the  chieftahi's  words  had  power  to  awaken  feel- 
ings new  and  strange  within  her:  that  they  conjured 
up  many  a  happy  thought,  many  a  brilliant  hope  from 
her  spirit's  depths.  Before  this  ail  powerful  spell  the 
hated  image  of  burly  Master  Browne  faded  from 


40 


MacCarthy  More;,  or, 


Ellen's  mind,  and  sweet  peace  took  possession  of  her 
soul  as  she  laid  her  head  on  the  pillow  where  ti^e 
silver  moonlight  slept. 


S^ 


1; 


Thb  Fortunes  of  an  Irish  Chief. 


41 


criAPT3i:R  III.  * 

Whilst  tlie  Lady  of  Clancartliy,  ard  her  fair  daugh- 
ter, and  all  the  friends  of  their  house,  were  bewail- 
ing the  Earl's  infatuation  in  choosing  such  a  husband 
for  his  only  child,  and  devising  means  of  averting 
the  blow  that  oeemed  ready  to  fiiU  on  the  once  royal 
sept,  a  gentleman  of  the  MacCarthys,  coming  direct 
from  London,  where  he  had  been  for  some  time  past, 
made  his  appearance  before  Sir  Thomas  Norreys, 
the  Queen's  Vice-President  of  Munster,  in  the  an- 
cient City  of  Limerick,  to  lodge  certain  complaints 
against  the  Earl  of  Clancarthy. 

This  gentleman's  name  was  Florence  MacCarthy. 
He  was  son  of  the  late,  and  nephew  of  the  present, 
MacCarthy  Reagh,  the  second  in  rank  of  the  three 
great  chiefs  of  the  Clan  Carthy.  Although  still 
ycang,  he  had  served  in  the  late  war  against  the 
it-bci  Earl  of  Desmond,  and  like  his  father  before 
birt\,  Sir  Donald  MacCarthy  Reagh,  his  character  for 
loyally  was  above  susjiicion.  Much  of  his  time  had 
of  lalu  beei:  spent  at  the  English  Court,  and,  when  in 
Ireland,  he  wat.  a  frequent  visitor  to  the  English  offi- 
cials in  Cork  and  Limerick.  He  was,  therefore,  well 
and  no  less  favorably  known  to  Sir  Thomas  Norreys, 
A^ho  received  him  with  the  frank  courtesy  of  the  gal- 
lant soldier  he  was.  There  were  worse  men  amonijst 
FIi2:y.beth's  officers  in  Ireland  than  stout  Sir  Thomas 


42 


MacCartut  More;  or, 


Norrcys,  whose  brother,  Sir  John,  a  man  of  a  similar 
stamp,  he  had  succeeded  in  office,  on  the  sudden  death 
of  the  hitter,  a  little  before  the  opening  of  our  story. 

Flo'*ence  MacCarthy  had  a  consideral^le  list 
of  charges  to  make  against  the  Earl.  It  appeared 
that  he  had  been  lending  tlie  aged  spendthrift  large 
sums  of  money  on  bond  and  mortgage,  which  mort- 
gages the  Earl  now  disputed,  and  wslh  going  to  for- 
feit his  securities  for  tl  same.  AmonQfsi  other  bad 
treatment  this  "  gentlen.  i  he  MacCarthy s"  had  re- 
ceived at  the  hands  of  his  u-  ._i'upulous  kinsman  was 
his  violation  of  a  promise  he  had  made  him  to  give 
him  his  daughter  in  marriage,  whereas  he  was  now 
about  marrying  her  to  Master  Nicholas  Browne. 

"  That,"  said  he,  "  cannot  now  be  helped,  for  I 
hear  the  deeds  are  signed  and  sealed,  and  only  the 
Earl's  return  is  awaited  to  finish  the  business.  But 
the  money  I  advanced  to  the  Earl  in  his  needs  I  have 
no  mind  to  lose.  Nevertheless,  if  I  must  be  the 
loser.  Sir  Thomas,  it  would  please  me  better  that  you 
should  be  the  gainer  than  this  thriftless  Earl,  whose 
loyalty  to  her  gracious  Majesty  is  but  loose  and  ill- 
assured." 

^*  What  would  you,  then,  Master  Florence  ?"  in- 
quired Norreys. 

**  I  would  transfer  my  claims  on  the  EarPs  lands 
to  you,  whose  power  to  enforce  then  is  greater  than 


mme. 


»» 


Sir  Tlioraas  shook  his  head.     "  To  that  I  say  nay. 
Master  Florence  I  that  country  of  Desmond  is  too 


it 


gaW3BBBKg«^»£S 


The  Fortunes  op  an  Irish  Chief. 


43 


T 


I 


hard  to  reach.  An'  the  MacCarthy,  took  it  in  head 
to  resist  the  claims,  mine  were  worth  less  than  yours 
in  that  wild  country.     I  like  not  the  plan." 

"  Truth  to  tell  it  is  a  wild  country,"  said  MacCar- 
thy, gravely,  "  I  fear  there  is  litttle  respect  for  law, 
or  right,  there,  save  that  of  MacCarthy  More, — as 
they  call  the  Earl.  But  the  money  1  have  sunk 
there  I  cannot  afford  to  lose  ;  an'  you  will  not  take 
the  transfer  of  my  claims.  Sir  Thomas,  I  must  e'en 
risk  a  journey  into  those  parts  of  Kerry  where  th<j 
mortgaged  lands  are  situated,  hoping  to  recei\e 
somewhat  of  my  rightful  due." 

"  You  purpose  going  thither,  then  ?"  asked  Nor- 
reys,  with  some  hesitation. 

*'With  your  Honor's  permission,  and  a.  written 
order  to  that  effect.  The  Earl  once  returned  to  those 
parts,  ray  journey  were  of  small  avail.  The  crafty 
old  fox  would  outwit  me  in  the  matter  of  the  mort- 
gages, as  he  hath  done  in  that  of  the  marriage." 

"  Is  it  well  assured  that  Master  Browne  will  have 
the  Earl's  daughter  ?" 

"  Ay,  marry,  will  he,  and  his  lands  to  boot.  The 
mairiage  troubles  me  but  little,  seeing  that  I,  at  this 
present  time,  am  under  promise  to  marry  the  daugh- 
ter of  O'Sullivan  Beare,  but  my  lands  or  my  money 
I  would  fain  have  from  the  Earl,  to  whom  I  owe  no 
good  will." 

"  O'Sullivan  Beare  I"  repealed  Norreys  slowly  and 
musingly. 

"  Ay,  marry,  Sir  Thomas  !  a  fair  lady  as  any  in 
Munster." 


44 


MacCabtht  More;  or, 


The  Vice-President  was  silent  a  moment.  **  The 
Queen  must  know  of  this,"  he  said,  within  himself, 
*•  tliese  alliances  amongst  the  Irishry  import  her 
much." 

Keen  eyes  were  watching  his  face,  and  reading  his 
thoughts  ;  a  smile  passed  over  the  face  of  Florence 
MacCarthy,  but  the  smile  vanished,  and  the  face  was 
placid  and  composed  as  before,  when  the  English 
general  turned  his  eyes  on  him  again. 

"  May  I  hope  for  the  pass,  Sir  Thomas,  to  go  into 
the  Earl's  country  ?'' 

"I  see  not  why  I  should  withhold  it,"  said  Nor- 
reys,  "knowing  ycu  v'll  assured  loyalty;  since 
you  have  been  so  hardly  dealt  by,  it  is  meet  that  you 
should  have  the  means  of  righting  yourself  in  regard 
to  the  mortgages." 

So  the  order  was  written  empowering  "  Mr.  Flor- 
ence MacCartie,"  as  the  name  was  then  written,  *♦  to 
make  a  journey  into  the  country  of  Desmond  on 
business  appertaining  to  certain  dealings  of  his 
with  the  Earl  of  Clancarthy." 

Feuds  and  dissensions  between  the  lords  and  gen- 
tlemen of  "  the  mere  Irish"  were  always  matter  of 
undisguised  satisfaction  to  the  English  Queen  and 
her  officials.  The  prospect  of  effectiiig  any  such  re- 
sult was  eagerly  transmitted  to  her  English  minis- 
ters, either  to  Walsingham,  her  Secretary  of  State, 
or  hv.-  Ufe-long  confidant,  Cecil,  Lord  Burleigh,  as  tho 
most  acceptable  item  of  Irish  news.  With  uncom- 
mon pleasure,  therefore,  did  Sir  Thomas  Norreys  sign 


Thb  Fortunes  ov  an  Irish  Chief. 


46 


that  order  for  an  undoubtedly  loyal  gentleman  of 
"the  MacCarties,"  to  go  into  the  country  of  the  head 
of  his  house  with  such  hostile  purpose.  It  was  truly 
encouraging,  from  an  English  point  of  view,  to  see 
such  enmity  arising  between  two  great  branches  of 
Hie  powerful  Clan  Carthy. 

It  is  hard  to  say  what  particular  thoughts  were 
passing  in  the  mind  of  this  young  Irish  gentleman, 
fresh  from  the  Court  of  London,  as  he  journeyed  on, 
with  one  or  two  attendants,  into  the  remote  regions 
of  Kerry.  Considering  the  peculiar  nature  of  his  er- 
rand it  was  strange  that  he  took  with  him  no  larger 
following.  It  was  well  known  ''hat  he  stood  high  in 
favor  with  his  uncle.  Sir  Owcl  MacCarthy  Reagh, 
and  that  he  had  had  command,  duiing  the  late  war, 
of  the  entire  contingent  furnished  by  the  MacCar- 
thys  of  Carbery,  yet  neither  kerne  nor  gallowglass 
rode  in  his  company  to  the  wilds  of  Kerry  to  enforce 
claims  to  large  tracts  of  land  and  strong  castles  be- 
longing to  the  lord  of  all  that  country.  A  bold  man 
must  have  been  Florence  MacCarthy,  for  all  his  bland 
courtesy  of  manner,  and  his  calm,  passionless  face. 
With  his  tall  commanding  figure,  far  above  the  aver- 
age height:  of  men,  and  his  air  of  high  superiority,  he 
looked  ju9t  the  man  to  maintain  his  own  rights 
against  any  odds,  and  at  any  risk ;  he  looked,  too, 
like  a  man  who  would  do  nothing  rashly  or  impru- 
dently, yet  here  he  was,  riding  post  haste  into  the 
country  of  MacCarthy  More,  with  intentions  hostile 
to  that  chieftain,  yet  having  with  him  but  one  or  two 


46 


MacCartuy  More;  or, 


attendants,  whose  dress  and  equipments  were  as  un- 
warlike  as  his  own  !  It  was  not  so  that  lords  or  gen- 
tlemen were  wont  to  travel  in  those  troublous  times 
when  on  hostile  purpose  bent. 

They  were  lovely  scenes  through  which  Florence 
journeyed,  wild,  and  fair  and  romantic  as  any  in  Ire- 
land ;  and  as  the  smile  of  early  summer,  breaking  at 
intervals  through  the  gray  rain-clouds  of  the  parting 
spring,  lit  up  the  mountain-side,  and  the  rock,  and 
the  torrent,  the  ancient  woods  and  the  smiling  mea- 
dows by  the  rippling  streams,  the  young  man's  eye 
brisjhtened,  and  a  smile  of  stransre  sicfniticance  flitted 
over  his  handsome  features.  But  the  thoughts  of  his 
heart  were  not  thus  to  be  read,  for  the  face  was  not 
a  frank  face, — it  was  rather  one  tliat  had  from  earli- 
est youth  been  trained  to  conceal  what  passed 
within. 

What  course  he  intended  to  adopt  for  the  enforcing 
of  his  claims  on  the  Earl's  mortgaged  lands,  in  tlie 
absence  of  the  proprietor,  it  were  hard  to  say.  What 
man  could  do  by  merely  legal  means,  that  Florence 
could  do,  for  his  knowledge  of  English  laws  was 
not  small,  and  his  mind  was  naturally  keen  and 
subtle.  It  was  natural,  therefore,  that  he  would  not 
have  taken  such  a  journey, — at  a  time  when  it  was 
necessary  to  ride  all  the  way  on  horseback,  and  when 
the  disturbed  state  of  the  country  rendered  travel- 
ing  unsafe, — had  he  not  a  fair  prospect  of  reaping 
8om*»  positive  advantage. 

Let  us  follow  him,  however,  into  Kerry,  and    see 


Thb  Fortunes  op  an  Irish  Chief. 


47 


rs 


how  he  raanajrecl  to  accomplish  the  arduous  task  he 
had  undertaken. 

It  was  late  evening  when  Florence  MacCartliy  and 
his  two  attendants  rode  up  to  the  gate  of  l*allice 
Castle.  To  the  warder's  challcMige,  in  Irish,  from 
the  gate-tower,  the  answer  from  below  was,  "  Fineen 
MacDonogh,*  with  letters  from  MacCarthy  More,  in 
England." 

Soon  the  heavy  outer  gates  were  thrown  open,  and 
the  light  of  torches  flashed  out  on  the  darkness,  re- 
vealing the  three  horsemen  without  and  the  gray 
old  porter  within,  who,  bowing  low,  conducted  the 
visitor  and  his  two  followers  across  the  Lawn,  or 
court-yard,  to  the  inner  gate,  wliere  Florence  dis- 
mounting, flung  the  reins  to  a  gilly,  or  horse-boy, 
several  of  whom  made  their  appearance,  and  followed 
the  ancient  servitor  of  MacCarthy  More  up  the  lad- 
der, which  in  many  of  the  Irish  fortresses  of  those 
days,  led  to  the  hall,  instead  of  the  broad  stone  steps 
of  after  and  more  peaceful  times.  These  ladders 
were  merely  hooked  to  the  walls,  so  that  they  could 
easily  be  drawn  up,  in  case  of  danger  from  without. 
In  the  hall  Florence  found  some  other  "gentlemen 
of  the  MacCarthys;"  all  inferior  to  himself  in  posi- 
tion, but  not  unknown  to  him,  it  would  seem,  for  in 
reply  to  their  cool  and  scarcely  civil  salutation,  he 
greeted  them  severally  by  name,  offering  his  hand 


*  Fineen,  was  the  Irish  rendering  of  Florence,  and  Mac- 
Donogh,  or  tlie  son  of  Donogh^  was  tUe  gentleman's  Claa 
name. 


4S 


MacC^^rthy  Mobb;  ob, 


to  each  witli  the  warmth  of  a  friend  and  kinsman.  But 
Btill  the  cloud  lowered  on  every  brow. 

"  We  little  expected  to  see  you  here,  Flneen  Mac- 
Donogh,"  said  one  of  the  gentlemen,  a  gray-headed, 
grim  clansman,  who  had  for  many  a  stirring  year 
filled  the  onerous  post  of  seneschal  to  MacCarthy 
More.  *'  Queen's  officers  are  rare  visitors  to  Pallice, 
and  when  they  come,  they  come  unsent  for  like  the 
bad  weather." 

"  Kay,  nay,  Teague,"  said  Florence  cheerfully  and 
lightly,  and  he  would  have  laid  his  hand  on  the  old 
man's  shoulder,  but  it  was  gruffly  shaken  oft ;  "  nay, 
nay,  my  old  friend,  you  must  not  call  me  a  Queen's 
officer.  I  am  plain  Florence  MacCarthy,  nothing 
more,  nothing  less.  It  is  long  since  I  left  the  service 
of  the  English  Queen,  and  left  it  for  ever  and  aye." 

"  But  you  did  not  leave  it  till  you  helped  to  leave 
the  Desmond  low,  and  he  your  own  flesh  and  blood. 
It  was  shame  and  disgrace  for  a  MacCarthy  to  help 
the  bloody  Sassenagh  against  the  Geraldine." 

"  But  you  know,  my  good  Teague,  it  is  never  too 
late  to  niend.'    Let  me  whisper  a  word  in   your 


)t 


ear. 

Reluctantly  the  old  man  consented,  but  whatever 
the  word  was,  or  rather  the  words,  they  had  the  effect 
of  smoothing  Teague's  brow,  and  bringing  something 
like  a  smile  to  his  weather-bronzed  face.  It  was 
clear  he  said  nothing  of  the  mortgages. 

Before  any  more  could  be  said,  a  messenger  from 
the  Countess  came  with  her  friendly  greeting  to 


t 


' -«Mai«jb|MgMiiiMMMM 


Tub  Fortunrs  of  an  Irish  Chief. 


49 


Florence,  requesting  him  to  accept  the  hospitality  of 
the  Castle  for  that  niglit,  and  she  would  be  glad  to 
sec  him  on  the  morrow. 

Tt  must  have  been  an  awkward  predicament  in 
which  the  young  man  found  himself  that  night ; 
coming  to  the  Pallice  to  look  after  his  money  or 
property,  and  still  obliged  to  lodge  under  the  roof  of 
the  man  whose  dishonorable  dealings,  and  utter  dis- 
regard of  promises,  had  rendered  his  coming  neces- 
sary. Yet  all  things  considered,  he  put  a  good 
countenance  on  the  matter,  and  bore  himself  as 
though  he  came  with  the  best  intentions  towards  the 
Earl  and  liis  family,  and  had  a  right  to  the  best  en- 
tertainment the  house  could  afford.  lie,  however, 
avoided  the  wme  cup,  and,  pleading  fatigue,  retired 
earlier  than  was  customary  in  that  house,  or  at  that 
time. 

Some  two  hours  after,  when  silence  reigned 
throughout  the  Castle,  a  page  tapped  softly  at  the 
tower  chamber,  to  which  Florence  had  been  shown ; 
and  the  promptness  with  which  the  young  gentleman 
answered  the  summons,  without  any  change  in  his  ap- 
parel, showed  that  he  had  been  waiting. 

The  page  bowed,  the  gentleman  motioned  for  him 
to  lead  the  way,  and,  by  the  dim  light  of  a  lamp 
which  the  boy  carried,  they  both  descende'^^  "-.he 
stairs  and  traversed  the  large  central  apart u^.  ixC— 
which,  on  every  story,  extended  through  the  entire 
space  within  the  walls  of  the  keep,  —  stopping  at 
lensrth  at  a  door  on  the  fa'dier  side. 


'f 


warn 


mmmmmmm 


}  < 
.  t 


60 


MacCarthy  More;  oR| 


4 


Again  the  page  tapped,  nnd  the  door  was  opened 
by  one  of  the  Lady  Chincarthy's  waiting- women,  who 
immediately  retired  to  the  inner  apartment,  and  the 
Countess  herself  advanced  to  meet  her  visitor.  The 
page  remained  at  the  door  as  if  to  guard  against  in- 
.rusion. 

Strange  to  say,  the  meeting  was  rather  fiiendly 
than  otherwise.  The  Countess,  with  the  grave  con- 
descension of  lier  age  and  rank,  extended  her  hand, 
over  which  the  young  man  bowed  respectfully. 

"  You  are  welcome  to  the  Pallice,  Mr.  Florence 
MacCarthy,"  she  said  in  English ;  probably  using  that 
language  as  less  likely  to  be  understood  by  any  of 
her  attendants  who  were  within  hearing.  "The  let- 
ters you  brought  me  from  MacCartliy  please  me 
welL  I  thank  God  that  Donald  hath  not  wholly  lost 
his  senses." 

"Your  ladyship  agrees,  then,  to  have  that  matter 
80  settled  ?"  said  Florence,  habitually  cautious  in  his 
words. 

"Ah !  woe  is  me,"  said  the  Countess,  sadly  ;  "my 
consent  imports  but  little !  Natheless,  there  are  some 
few  questions  I  would  fain  have  answered  before  the 
tiling  goes  farther." 

"  First,  let  me  lead  your  ladyship  to  a  seat !" 
The  Countess  bowed,  and  seated  herself,  motioning 
her  visitor  to  do  the  same. 

Long  they  talked,  at  first  guardedly  and  with  an 
excess  of  courtesy  on  both  sides,  that  spoke  no  com- 
munity of  feeling ;  gradually,  however,  this  restraint 


/, 


The  Fortunes  of  an  Irish  Cuiep. 


bl 


^ 


seemed  to  wear  away,  the  voices  sank  to  a  lower  and 
more  coniidential  tone,  and  the  lady's  face  lost  much 
of  its  care-worn  look  as  she  listened  to  the  explana- 
tions, and  hopes,  and  projects  wiiich  the  young  man 
rapidly  poured  forth  in  low,  earnest  tones. 

The  night  hours  passed  away,  and  when,  at  early 
mornmg,  the  Lady  Ellen  MacCarthy  entered  hef 
mother's  oratory,  where  the  priest  was  about  to  com- 
mence Mass,  she  was  surprised  to  see  the  usual  con- 
gregation, consisting  of  the  Countess,  her  own,  and 
her  daughter's  female  attendants,  increased  by  the 
presence  of  a  stranger,  a  young  man  of  noble  aspect, 
and  command  ui!jf  mien.  The  celebration  of  the  Di- 
vine  Mysteries  engrossed  all  attention,  and  Ellen 
scrupulously  avoided  looking  around,  although  the 
unwonted  presence  of  a  stranger,  and  such  a  stranger, 
in  that  secret  chapel  wliose  awful  rites  were  for- 
bidden by  English  law,  under  fearful  penalties,  was 
a  cause  of  distraction  to  the  young  daughter  of  Mac- 
Carthy More,  in  her  life  of  still  seclusion.  Ever 
came  the  thought  into  her  mind,  "  Have  I  not  seen 
that  face  before  ?"  and  ever  she  strove  to  banish  the 
distraction,  by  fixing  her  mind  more  steadily  on  the 
mystic  rites  accompanymg  the  great  eacritice  of  the 
new  law.  Oh  !  solemn  and  beautiful,  and  ineflably 
touching,  was  the  celebration  of  the  Divine  mysteries 
in  those  penal  days,  when  even  in  the  ancestral 
castle  of  a  mighty  chieftain,  the  descendant  of  a 
princely  line,  the  lord  of  half  a  jJi'ovince,  it  was  ne- 
cessary to  hide  those  sacred  rites  within  the  farthest 


,-?~lTSSSX 


^^sBss^mmsmmmmsi 


?m  1 


52 


MacCarthy  Morr;  or 


recesses  of  the  ancient  castles !  In  those  days, 
when  English  laws  had  made  it  a  penal  otience  ibr 
the  priest  to  celebrate,  or  the  laity  to  hear  mass,  the 
fervor  of  the  faithful  was  cquu I  to  that  of  the  first 
Christians  who",  in  many  i-cspects,  they  so  closely  re- 
Bcmbled. 

After  Mass, — when  the  oratory  was  left  to  its  solemn 
silence,  and  the  priest  making  his  thanksgiving, 
kneeling  on  the  altar  step. — in  the  ante-chamber  of 
the  Countess,  Lady  Ellen  was  formally  introduced  by 
her  mother  to  "  Mr.  Florence  MacCarthy,  son  of 
Donald  MacCarthy  lleagh." 

The  meetiu^  between  the  young  gentleman  and 
lady  had  m  it  nothing  remarkable  ;  neither  ap- 
peared to  take  any  particular' notice  of  the  otlier. 
There  was,  indeed,  a  deeper  color  than  usual  on 
Ellen's  face,  but  tluitwas  easily  accounted  for  by  the 
maidenly  modesty  of  one  whose  young  life  had  been 
passed  in  nun-like  seclusion.  It  seemed  as  though 
the  young  people  had  never  met  l)eforo,  and  conse- 
quently met  tlien  as  strangers,  Witli  a  half  abstract- 
ed air  Ellen  listened  while  Florence,  in  answer  to  a 
question  of  the  Countess  as  to  how  he  had  obtained 
permission  to  come  into  Desmond, — related,  in  a  care- 
less, oHdiand  way,  liow  he  had  represented  to  Sir 
Thomas  Norreys  that  important  law  business  call'jd 
him  thither.  Just  then  Lady  Ellen  chanced  to  look 
towards  him,  and  the  meanmg  smile  with  which  he 
tpoke  of  the  "  law' business  "  did  not  escape  her.  She 
met  hi3  wandering  glance,  and  it  somehow  awoke  re* 


=■"* 


Thb  Fortunes  of  an  Irish  Cuief. 


53 


collections  of  her  earlier  years.  Still  she  could  not 
remember  having  seen  the  gentleman  before. 

It  was  not  the  Lady  Clancarthy's  j^ractice  to  ap- 
pear with  her  daughter  at  the  table  in  the  banquet- 
ting-hall,  where  visitors  and  dependents,  were  wont 
to  take  their  meals.  Even  when  the  Earl  was  at  home 
it  ^vua  only  when,  on  special  occasions,  he  commanded 
their  presence,  that  his  wife  and  daughter  made  their 
appearance  at  the  public  table  of  the  household. 

Lady  Ellen  was  not  a  little  surprised,  when  told 
by  her  mother  that  day  to  dress  with  unusual  care, 
for  tliey  would  go  to  dinner  in  the  hall  through  re- 
spect for  their  newly  arrived  guest.  But  daughters 
in  those  days  were  not  wont  to  raise  objections  to  the 
expressed  will  of  parents,  and  it  is  more  than  likely 
that  the  fair  Ellen  was  rather  phjased  than  otherwise 
to  have  the  dull  routine  of  her  daily  life  even  for 
once  varied. 

At  dinner,  therefore,  the  ladies  took  their  seats 
on  the  dais  at  the  head  of  the  long  table,  with 
Florence  MacCartliyat  the  right  hand  of  the  Count- 
ess. There  were  few  others  at  the  table  whose  gentle- 
blood  entitled  them  to  seats  above  the  salt  ;*  of  that 
small  number  was  the  aged  seneschal  and  the  other 
chief  officers  of  the  Earl's  household.  It  was  curious 
to  see  the  change  that  had  come  over  these  followers 

*  At  llie  liospltahle  tables  of  the  Celtic  Chiefs  both  of  Ire- 
land ami  Scotland  in  those  feudal  limes,  all  the  household 
took  their  seats  ;  the  only  ditlerence  being  that  the  yass;da 
and  those  who  were  not  of  gentle  birth  sat  at  the  lower  end, 
the  salt  iu  the  center  marking  the  division. 


m 


ma 


-•^)WiM«Jltti'Htr^WB|tr^C  f  ,m_'  i-,f,    ,.-^rt-(-T*l 


54 


MacCarthy  More;  or, 


of  MacCartliy,  in  their  bearing  towards  Florence,  du- 
ring the  few  hours  he  had  been  in  the  Castle.  They 
were  now  both  cordial  and  respectful  in  their  inter- 
course with  him,  which  was  all  the  more  strange 
when  one  considered  the  ostensibleobjcctof  his  visit. 
Had  he  been  making  false  representations, — l.iposing 
on  the  credulity  of  those  simple  Kei  rymen  ?  tlo^ 
had  he,  who  was  over  night  received  with  marked  di:. 
trust  as  a  friend  of  the  English,  contrived,  in  the 
short  interval,  to  gain  the  confidence  and  good  w^ill 
of  them  all  ?  Had  that  word  whispered  in  the  sen- 
eschal's ear,  produced  so  surprising  a  result  ? 

One  thing  alone  attracted  Lady  Ellen's  notice,  for 
not  having  witnessed  Florence's  first  reception,  she 
knew  nothing  of  the  change  tliat  had  been  wrought 
in  his  favor ;  ever  since  the  news  of  the  approaching 
marrianrc  of  his  chieftain's  dauijjhter  to  the  low-born 
Englishman,  no  sound  of  gladness  had  ever  come 
from  the  harp  of  tlie  aged  minstrel,  whose  place  of 
lionor  in  the  hall  bespoke  the  chief  bard  of  Clan  Cau- 
ra.  That  day  the  old  man  struck  his  harp  to  a  bold 
and  blitliesome  strain,  and  as  though  seized  with  a 
prophetic  spirit,  he  broke  all  at  once  into  a  wild  aiid 
warlike  song  of  triumph  ;ind  of  exultation.  Greater 
still  was  Ellen's  wonder  when  slie  heard  his  song  of 
welcome  to  the  dark-haired  chief  of  the  proud 
MacCaura's  line  who  had  come  to  «f\ve  Lis  master's 
house  from  the  dark  doom  of  sorrow.  With  a  newly 
awakened  interest  she  glanced  timidly  at  tLcir  visitor, 
but  with  a  flushed  cheek  she   withdrew  her  eyea^ 


'< 


\ 


'^ 


J 


1 


^ 


? 


If 

I 


i 


TuE  Fortunes  op  an  Irish  Chief. 

when  she  s^  ,r  that  his  were  fixed  on  her  face,  with  a 
proud  and  conscious  look.  Confused  and  agitated, 
yet  scarce  knowing  why,  she  remained  silent  during 
the  repast,  and  felt  it  a  relief  when  she  was  again  at 
liberty  to  seek  the  quiet  of  her  own  chamber.  There 
stealing  away  even  from  her  faithful  Una,  she  tried 
to  unravel  the  tano-led  skein  that  her  thoui>;hts  had 
become,  and  to  account  to  herself  for  the  not  un- 
pleasing  excitement  that  had  taken  the  place  of  that 
dull  despondency  which  for  weeks  and  weeks  had  set- 
tled down  upon  her. 

'•What  has  happened  ?"  said  the  soft  voice  of  Una, 
and  the  little  tire-woman  crept  close  to  her  young 
mistress.  "Will  not  my  lady  tell  her  faithful  Una  if 
any  new  mishap  hath  come  ?" 

"I  know  not  what  there  is  to  tell,  Una  1"'  Lady 
Ellen  answered  with  a  mizzled  look.  "I  know  but  this 
that  the  gentleman  whom  we  saw  this  morning  at 
mass  hath  brought  some  strano;e  trouble  to  the  house. 
Pray  God  it  be  for  good ! — and  yet  "  she  added  mu- 
singly as  if  to  herself, — "  and  yet,  it  must  be  so,  for 
old  Eman's  Uarp  echoed  to  day  no  sound  of  sorrow." 

Just  then  came  a  message  fr'jrn  the  Countess 
that  she  was  going  for  a  walk  on  the  ramparts,  and 
desired  her  daughter  to  accompany  her. 

At  the  foot  of  the  stairs  leading  to  tliC  battlements 
Lady  Ellen  found  her  mother  and  then-  guest.  It 
was  a  lovely  evening, between  day  and  dark,  that 

" Lour  of  silence  and  of  rest," 

to  dreaming  poets  dear.    As  they  emerged  from  the 


56 


MacCartht  Mors;  ob, 


cover  of  the  roof  on  the  open  ramparts,  and  the  blue 
evening  sky  with  its  first  faint  stars  broke  on  their 
view,  MaeCarthy  turning  to  the  fairy-like  scenes 
that  were  gradually  Avaxing  dim  in  the  dai'kening 
twilight,  said  in  a  thoughtful  tone — 

"IIow  long:  shall  we  call  these  scenes  our  own — 
we  of  the  ancient  race?  How  long  shall  MacCaura 
rule  over  Desmond?" 

"  Not  long,  I  fear,"  made  answer  the  Countess, 
*'  if  Donald  may  have  his  way.  You  have,  doubtless, 
heard  of  his  dealings  with  the  Brownes,  in  regard  to 
certain  mortgages — as  I  am  told  the  lawyers  called 
them.  If  he  be  not  stopped,  the  Brownes  will  soon 
have  all." 

Florence  MaeCarthy  laughed,  and  the  Countess 
turned  on  him  a  look  of  inquiry. 

*•  I  crave  your  ladyship's  pardon,"  he  said,  "but 
the  Brownes  are  not  likely  to  have  all.  MaeCarthy 
More  has  borrowed  money  of  others  besides  the 
Brownes,  and  made  over  lands  to  them,  aye  and  castles 
tool — If  the  Brownes  have  Molahiffe,  Castle  Lough 
of  the  MacCarthies  is  as  surely  mine,  wuth  many  a 
broad  acre  of  the  Earl's  country  to  boot  I" 

*•  Thine  !  Castle  LouMi  thine?" 

*'  Surely  yes,  dame  Ilonora  I  as  surely  as  money 
can  buy  it." 

"  And  you  came  in  my  father's  absence  to  claim 
your  own !"  exclauned  Ellen,  speaking  for  the  first  time. 

"  Even  so,  fair  lady.  I  came  hither  to  claim  my 
own." 


V 


•n 


'IIIU.I1IIIIW— HiMBWi"i'«iimiiiiiijw««»« 


V 


If 


The  Fortunes  op  an  Irish  Chief. 


67 


•*  Methinks,"  saicl  the  young  lady,  the  pride  of  hoi 
race  flashing  in  scorn  from  lier  dark  eyes,  •'methinks 
it  were  morebecomhig  aMacCarthy  to  come  on  such 
un<xi*acious  errand  when  the  owner  were  at  home  !" 

Again  the  young  man  hiughed  lightly  and  merrily. 
Lady  Ellen  walked  indignantly  away,  leaving  her 
mother  to  continue  the  subject  or  not. 


'C;f">r> 


68 


MacCartiiy  Moke;  ob, 


CHArTER  lY. 

The  following  morning,  after  the  early  brea)  rast 
of  those  days,  Lady  Ellen,  weary  of  the  still,  n  ono- 
tonous  life  within  doors,  and  longing,  as  young  iaid« 
ens  will,  when  skies  are  briojht  and  breezes  are '/land, 
for  a  stroll  in  the  open  air, — took  Una  with  h  ^sT,  and 
wrapped  in  a  cloak,  the  hood  of  which  coveLf»d  her 
head,  left  the  castle  unobserved  by  any  save  Ihe  por- 
ter at  the  gate,  and  went  down  to  the  rirer  side. 
There,  seating  herself  on  a  bank  which  coijucanded 
a  view  of  the  picturesque  rapids,  where  t?  >€  ourplua 
waters  of  the  Lower  Lake  run  out,  throuifl"  tl.e  chan- 
nel  of  the  river's  bed,  to  join  that  arm  of  t'lC  Atlantic 
called  Court  MeSherry  Bay.  ListlespJ  /  her  eyes 
wandered  over  the  lovely  scones  amicf  which  her 
young  life  had  pussed,  and  not  evfi.  the  bright 
sheen  of  the  dancing  waters,  or  the  lirathery  spray 
she  had  so  often  admired,  could  th<ii  restore  the 
faded  light  of  other  days  to  her  eyes.  She  felt  sad 
and  despondent.  The  passing  gleam  of  hope,  which 
the  day  before  had  cheered  her  wivA  its  smile,  had 
fled,  and  the  darkness  of  her  doom  again  occupied  her 
mind.  In  vain  did  Una  try  to  arouse  her  young  mis- 
tress from  this  sudden  iit  of  dejection.  She  was  ill 
at  eppe,  she  said,  and  could  not  think  of  anything 
but  what  was  sad.  At  length  Una,  in  a  hesitating 
way,  mentioned  "  the  gentleman  from  Carbery." 


A' 


r. 


"T'. .  ''"I"'— >" 


»,u'j);i|iniinii|ipmpnn,iinjnjiniwnpw»n 


TaE  Fortunes  ov  an  Irish  Cuibf. 


59 


I* 


*'  Nay,  name  him  not,"  said  the  young  lady,  in  a 
querulous  tone,  "  what  should  we  hope  from  him  ? 
iie  hath  come  here  like  any  commo.i  English  under- 
taker, to  secure  a  share  of  my  father''s  lands  in  the 
ruin  that  is  coming  upon  us." 

"  Hist !"  said  Una,  turning  with  a  start,  as  a  foot- 
step fell  on  the  sward  behind.  Her  mistress  followed 
her  example,  and  there  stood  Florence  JMcCarthy,  in 
the  light  huntuig-garb  of  an  Irish  chieftain,  admira- 
bly well  adapted  to  shew  olT  the  noble  proportions 
of  his  lofty  figure. 

A  smile  was  on  his  face  as  he  courteously  saluted 
the  young  lady  of  Clancarthy.  There  was  little 
doubt  but  he  had  overheard  her  contemptuous  re- 
mark, and  for  a  moment  Lady  Ellen  felt  confused  ; 
it  was  but  for  a  moment,  however,  and  then  she 
arose,  and  with  freezing  coolness  returned  the  young 
chieftain's  salute.  She  would  have  passed  on,  but 
MacCarthy  seemed  detcrmmed  not  to  be  left  behind  ; 
he  walked  on  by  her  side,  and  Una  fell  back  a  few 
paces. 

"  You  seem  to  have  forgotten  me,  fair  cousin !" 
the  young  man  said  after  an  embarrassing  silence. 

"  Forgotten  you  ! — how  ?'* 

"  Do  you  not  remember  how  we  were  playmates 
at  Cork  when  I  and  my  brother  Dermod  were  there 
with  my  father,  as  you  and  your  brother  were  with 
your  parents,  that  time  when  Sir  Henry  Sydney  kept 
foyal  state  there  on  his  passage  through  the  Pro« 
irince?     If  you  have  forgotten  those   days,  Ellen 


60 


MacCartuy  More;  or, 


MacCaura,  not  so  have  I,  even  tliough  I  be  like  any 
common  E?iglis/i  undertaker  /" 

There  was  sadness  in  the  smile  that  rested  on  Mac- 
Carthy's  lace  when  Ellen  looked  up  to  it  in  surprise. 
"  And  are  you  the  little  Florence  MacDonogh  who, 
with  your  brother  Uerniod  Moyle,  drew  my  poor 
brother  Teague  out  of  the  water  that  day  when  he 
fell  mto  the  river  Lee  ?" 

"  Even  so,  fair  lady  ! — somewhat  taller  I  am,  as 
you  see,  but  natheless  I  am  the  same  Florence  Mac- 
Donogh.  It  grieved  me  sorely  to  hear  of  your  bro- 
ther's death." 

"  Ah  !  poor  Teague  !"  sighed  the  young  lady.  It 
was  all  she  could  say.  The  sad  and  lonely  fate  of 
the  loved  companion  of  her  childhood  had  thrown  a 
dark,  cold  shadow  over  all  the  years  of  her  life,  since 
the  news  of  his  death  had  reached  his  desolate  home. 

Respecting  her  sorrow,  and  in  part  feeling  it  him- 
self, Florence,  too,  was  silent ;  he  could  not  think 
without  emotioa  of  the  lonely  death  of  the  young 
scion  of  his  race,  whom  he  had  known  a  bright,  play- 
ful child. 

They  had  reached  the  Lake  shore,  and  as  each 
involuntarily  paused  to  look  at  the  entrancing  scene 
that  opened  before  them,  MacCarthy  suddenly  said — 

"  Have  I  heard  truly  that  MacCarthy  IMore  hath 
made  choice  of  one  of  Valentme  Browne's  sons,  for 
— "he  stopped,  then  added,  as  if  with  an  effort, 
speaking  more  rapidly — "  for  a  son-in-law  ?" 

"  Alas,  yes  !"  said  the  young  lady,  forgetting,  for 


•! 


Tub  Fortunes  op  an  Irish  Cuiep. 


ei 


the  moment,  her  previous  distrust.  "  Unhappy  that 
I  am,  sucli,  I  fear,  is  my  hard  fate." 

"  An  evil  day  were  it,  surely,  wheu  a  daughter  of 
MacCarthy  became  the  wife  of  a  scurvy  English  sur- 
veyor!— It  must  not,  shall  not  be  ! — And  yet,"  he 
added,  with  the  same  humorous  smile  as  before, 
"  what  right  have  1  to  speak  so — I  who  am  like  any 
common  under,   ker  !" 

"  Nay,  sir,  if  you  must  needs  keep  harpmg  on 
that,"  said  Lady  Ellen  shortly,  "  you  may  do  so, 
and  welcome.  I  said  but  what  I  thought,  and  may- 
l»ap  I  spoke  the  truth." 

Florence  MacCarthy  stopped  short  in  his  walk, 
and  turned  his  beaming  eyes  full  on  the  lady's  face. 
"  But  suppose  I  came  not  hither  in  search  of  money 
or  land,  as  Sir  Thomas  Noneys  and  your  fair  self 
are  of  like  mind  in  thinkiniij  I  did  ?" 

Lady  Ellen's  cheek  turned  pale,  then  red,  under 
the  search insj  look  that  was  fixed  on  her  face.  She 
would  say  something,  but  she  knew  not  what  she 
could  say  with  prudence. 

"  Can  you  think  of  nought  else  that  brought  me 
hither  than  the  mortgages  I  hold  on  certain  of  your 
father's  lands?" 

The  -voice  that  spoke  these  words  was  trembling 
with  emotion,  and  Ellen's  cheek  turned  redder  as  she 
listened,  but  she  made  an  effort  to  appear  unconscious 
of  the  meaning  of  the  words,  and  answered  with 
forced  composure — 

"  It  were  hard  for  me  to  guess." 


62 


MacCartuy  Mobs;  or, 


*'  Then,  will  I  tell  you.  I  came  hithei  Ut  save  ono 
you  know  iVoin  a  fate  she  dreads.  To  make  her  tlin 
wife,  an'  she  will,  of  ono  as  nobly  born  as  herself; 
of  one  in  whose  veins  flows  the  blood  of  her  own 
princely  fathers.  Ellen  MacCarthy,  will  you  he  my 
wedded  wife,  and  so  escape  the  shame  and  sorrow 
of  marrying  Nicholas  Browne  ?'* 

These  words,  like  an  electric  shock,  restored  El- 
len to  her  usual  self  command,  which  was  remark- 
able for  her  nge. 

"  Florence  MacCarthy,"  ishe  said,  looking  him 
proudly,  almost  sternly  in  the  face,  "  I  may  not  pro- 
mise that  on  such  short  acquaintance*,  and  without 
my  mother's  knowledge." 

"Your  mother  has  gladly  given  her  oonsent.'" 

"  Natheless,  we  met  but  yestermoru  ;  it  is   over 

soon  to " 

Florence  interrupted  her  with  a  smile  and  a  look 
that  she  could  not  intcrDret.  "  I  see  you  are  other- 
wise disposed,"  he  said.     '•  Think  no  more  of  it." 

They  had  been  for  some  time  retracing  their  steps 
towards  the  Castle,  and  had  now  reached  the  sloping 
lawn  before  it.*  An  exclamation  of  surprise  escaped 
Lady  Ellen  ;  some  half  a  score  of  horsemen,  whom 
she  recognised  as  followers  of  O'Sullivan  More,  were 
at  the  gate,  newly  arrived,  and  in  the  open  door  ot 
the  hall  stood  their  chieftain  smiling  kindly  and 
Bomewhat  archly,  on  the  two  young  scions  of  Clan 

*  This  liiwn,  in  front  of  Pallice  Castlo,  was  then,  as  it  has  h(i*>x. 
eini^e,  called  Gallows  Fuld,  as  it  was  there  that  MacCarthy  was 
wont  to  have  crinunul  offenders  executed. 


I  ' 


,  * 


t: 


^ww 


The  Fobtunes  of  an  Irish  Cuiir. 


68 


Carthy  advancing  towards  liim.  By  his  side  was 
the  Countess,  who,  hearing  of  her  friend's  arrival, 
had  conic  down,  even  to  the  Castle  door,  to  bid  them 
welcome. 

"  Ccad  milk  faihhe^\  Fineen  !"  was  O'Sullivan's 
salutation,  a&  he  grasped  Florence  by  both  hands, 
after  a  ccrdial,  fatlierly  greeting  to  Lady  Ellen; 
"  you  have  come  none  too  soon,  though  I  see  you 
have  lost  no  time.     How  goes  on  business  ?" 

"  You  mean  with  Xorreys  V"  said  Floroice,  draw- 
ing a  little  behind  the  young  lady,  and  making  a 
sign  with  his  hand  which  (he  elder  chieftain,  who  was 
his  brother  in-law,  appeared  to  understand,  for,  with- 
out waiting  for  an  answer  to  his  question,  he  went  on 
to  ask  tiie  Countess  whether  she  had  heard  from  her 
husband  since  he  saw  her  before. 

The  Countess  delayed  answering  for  a  moment 
till  her  daughter  and  her  attendant  had  disappeared 
on  the  steps  within  the  wall*  leading  to  the  household 
— -"  I  received  a  letter  by  Florence  here,  the  contents 
of  which  he  will  tell  you.  Donald  desires  that  what 
we  have  in  hand  be  done  with  speed.  For  his  action 
in  this  matt-er,  I  forgive  hi'u  all  that  hath  gone  be- 
apartnients.     Then  she  said,  in  a  low,  cautious  voice, 

t  A  hundred  thotisand  welcomed. 

*  The  Castles  of  that  day,  amoTigst  the  Irish,  were  of  a  pecu- 
liar build,  as  their  existing  remains  tt-stiiy.  Inside  the  oul^ir 
door,  reached  by  a  ladder,  there  was  another  strong  door  lead- 
in  %  to  the  hall,  and  between  the  two.  a  very  narrow  flight  of 
stone  steps  led  to  the  upper  storeys  of  the  building.  1  hese 
staircases  were  the  scene  of  many  a  bloody  hand  to  hand  con- 
flict, when  the  castles  were  stormed  by  an  enemy. 


.1 


64 


MacCarthy  More;  or, 


fore.  I  pray  you,  cjontlcmen  and  clear  friends',  cuter 
our  i)oor  abode.  Mac  Fiiian  will  see  that  your 
wants  be  duly  cared  for." 

"  That  will  I,  Lady  of  Clan  Carthy  !"  said  the  aged 
Bcneseluil  bowiui'  low,  "  welconier  2;uests  have  never 
cross^od  the  t!irefc;hold  of  Paliice  Castle." 

"  For  me,  I  pray  you  excuse  my  absence,"  saitl  the 
Btately  daughter  of  the  Geraldine.  "At  the  evening 
meal  my  daughter  and  I  shall  join  your  company." 

She  was  going  to  ascend  the  stairs  when  Florence 
said  something  to  her  in  a  low  whisper,  evidently 
makhig  a  request,  to  which  she  smilingly  assented, 
and  leaving  the  chieftains  to  enjoy  tliemselves  in 
their  own  way,  with  the  gentlemen  of  the  Earl's 
household,  she  hastened  to  rejoin  her  daughter. 

Lady  Ellen  was  sitting  by  a  window  in  a  musing 
attitude,  but  there  was  an  angry  flush  on  her  cheek 
which  did  not  escape  her  mother's  keen  scrutiny. 

"  Aileen  !"  said  she  in  Irish,  in  which  language 
they  generally  spoke  to  each  other,  "Aileen,  my  child, 
Florence  MacCarthy  wishes  to  pay  a  visit  to  Muck- 
russ  Abbey  while  here.  We  shall  go  this  evening. 
The  moon  is  at  her  full  to-night,  and  wo  shall  sail 
over  after  the  evening  meal." 

"  As  you  will,  my  lady  mother  !"  said  Ellen,  care- 
lessly. 

"Aileen"  said  her  mother,    *how  is  thi  Ife- 

thought  it  would  give  you  pleasure,  this  sai  the 
lake  by  moonlight — in  such  good  company!  aht 
added  significantly. 


Tim   FORTDNIS   OP   AN  IlllSU    ClKKF. 


65 


f 


L 


"  You  are  over  thoughtful  for  me,  mother,"  the 
young  lady  replied  hi  a  softened  voice.  "  1  desire 
no  better  company  than  yours  and  O'Sullivan 
More's." 

"  Ailecn  !  jSiloen  !  beware  !"  said  the  Countess, 
solemnly  and  sadly.  "Our  last  chanoe  is  lost  if  you 
turn  his  heart  away.  He  is  well  affected  towards 
you  now,  but  his  rnind  may  change  if  he  find  you 
cold  and  careless.  Ailoen,  my  only  tic  on  earth, 
think  now  that  you  have  to  choose  between  Florence 
MacCarthy  and  Nicholas  lirowne  !  You  are  mad, 
mad,  ma</,  if  you  do  no  wyt  thankfully  accept  the 
deliverance  that  God  hath  place<l  within  your  reach 
for  you,  for  me,  for  3'our  father,  for  dan 
Carthy,—for  the  Gerahlines  /"  she  added  with  stem 
emphasis,  as  she  quitted  the  roonj. 

After  her  mother's  departure,  Ellen  sat  long  in  the 
same  attitude  ;  it  were  hard  to  define  the  expression 
of  her  face,  and  so  her  faithful  Una  thought  as  she 
anxiously  observed  her.  She  was  evidently  debat- 
ing some  point  in  her  own  mind,  the  same  angry 
flush  on  her  cheek,  the  satne  cloud  lowering  on  her 
brow.     At  lenGfth  she  started  from  her  reverie: 

"  I  will  go,"  she  said,  "  but  not  on  his  account. 
Since  he  is  so  easily  put  off,  I  will  e'en  shew  him 
that  I  am  otherwise  disposed  !"  She  smiled  as  she 
met  Una's  anxious  eyes,  and  going  up  to  her,  patted 
her  on  the  head,  where  she  sat  at  work.  "  You 
must  use  your  best  skill,  little  Una,  to  deck  me  as 
becomes  MacCarthy's  daughter.     Bring  forth   my 


■ 


ea 


MacCartiiy  Morb;  or, 


kirtlo  of  sea  -  «>:rGen  taffety.  I  would  look  iny 
best  to-day — not  for  love,"  she  added  in  an  under- 
tC'De,  "  but  for  snite." 

i^iid  she  did  look  her  best,  when,  as  evening  ap- 
proached, she  appeared  before  her  mother,  ready  to 
descend  to  the  hall.  The  Countess  noted  with  an 
approving  f-niile  the  change  in  her  daughter's  ap- 
parel. 

"  How  passiug  fair  my  child  is  !""  she  murmured 
low  to  herself,  as  they  descended  to  the  banq-  eting- 
hall,  at  the  entrance  of  which  ihey  were  met  by 
MacCarthy  and  O'Sullivan,  v/ho  conducted  them  to 
their  seats  on  the  dais.  Tlie  same  feeling  of  ad- 
miration was  expressed  in  the  eloquent  glance  of 
Florence,  but  the  lady,  proud  and  cold,  appeared  to 
notice  it  not. 

With  music  and  mirth  the  moments  lightly  sped 
while  the  meal  went  on.  ISTever  had  Enian  of  the 
Harps  called  from  the  silver  strings  more  joyous 
strains;  the  praises  of  the  O'Sullivans  and  MaC' 
Carthvs  mingled  in  his  song,  and  the  gentles  above, 
and  the  retainers  below,  ^\'cre  alike  inspired  by  his 
minstrelsy.  Even  the  Countess  v/as  less  grave  than 
usual.  Lady  Ellen  alone  refused  to  smile,  rjid 
O'SuUivan  with  the  privilege  of  an  old  friend,  ban- 
tered the  fair  girl  on  her  maidenly  modesty,  as  ho 
doubtless  deemed  it.  Florence  was  by  no  means 
particular  in  his  attentions,  and  there  seemed  a  tacit 
miderstanding  between  him  and  the  young  lady,  that 
no  tie  of  sympathy  existed  between  them. 


i- 


I 


MUlMKUpWli 


Thb  Fortunes  of  an  Ibisii  Chirf. 


67 


When  the  first  moon-beams  came  streaming  into 
the  hall,  throu^^h  the  splayed  loop-liol^s,  the  Count- 
ess and  Florence  rose  simultaneously,  and  the 
Countess  whispered  to  her  daughter  that  it  was 
time  to  go,  if  they  would  have  the  best  of  the  moon- 
light. O'Sullivan,  who  had  been  pledging  Mac- 
Finan  across  the  table,  drained  his  goblet  hastily, 
and  declared  his  wilUngness  to  join  the  party. 

"  Though  I  must  own.  Countess,"  he  pleasantly 
Baid,  "  I  were  better  pleased  to  go  by  daylight.  It 
is  a  lonesome  place,  that  same  Irrelagh .  now  that  the 
monks  are  gone,  and  only  the  dead  dwelling  in  the 
old  Abbey." 

"No  Deed  to  go  in,"  replied  the  lady  with  a  calm 
smile.  "  We  may  even  land,  and  there  will  be 
enough  of  us  in  the  boat  to  make  good  company." 

Some  of  the  gentlemen  looked  as  though  they 
would  fain  have  joined  the  party,  gathering  its  des. 
tination  from  O'Sullivan's  words,  but  unasked  they 
might  not  intrude  themselves  on  such  a  company, 
and  so  they  were  fain  to  content  themselves  with 
toasting  the  ladies  of  Clancarthy  in  the  Spanish  wine 
that  sparkled  in  luige  methers  on  the  board,  as  the 
retainers  did  in  the  less  costly  usquebaugh  provided 
for  their  delectation. 

Meanwhile  our  party  sailed  out  into  the  lower 
lake,  the  boat  guided  by  a  skillful  hand  through  the 
rocks  and  shoals  at  the  head  of  the  swift  roHii;g 
Laune.  Some  half-a-dozen  sturdy  gallowgla.sses 
occupied  one  end   of   the    boat,   their  battle-axea 


68 


MacCartut  More;  or. 


gleaming  in  the  moon-liglit — such  a  guard  was,  in 
those  stormy  tunes,  not  alone  one  of  honor,  hut  one 
of  prudence,  vvliile  the  histy  arms  of  four  stal',vart 
kerne  impelled  the  liglit  craft  over  the  waters,  now 
bright  in  the  moonlight,  now  dark  in  the  shade. 

On  sped  the  boat,  and  silence  seemed  to  have 
fallen  like  a  spell  on  the  party,  enhanced,  as  it  were, 
by  the  more  than  e-arthly  beauty  of  the  sceiies  through 
which  they  glided,  and  the  hushed  repose  of  earth 
and  air.  The  boatmen  began  all  at  once  to  chant  in 
chorus  a  low,  plaintive  song,  to  the  measured  ca- 
dence of  which  their  oars  kept  time.  Occasionally, 
too,  was  heard  the  shrill  scream  of  the  heron  from 
the  rcfly  shore,  or  the  louder  cry  of  the  eagle 
from  the  mountains  above.  These  sounds  served 
but  to  make  the  general  hush  of  nature  deeper  still 
by  contrast,  and  lent,  tlierefore,  a  new  charm  to  the 
scene. 

Past  Rabbit  Island  the  boat  glided, — past  Innis- 
fallen  and  its  ruined  Abbey,  ruined  like  Muckruss 
and  Aghaboe,*  not  as  yet  by  time,  but  by  the  ruth- 
less soldiers  of  Henry  the  Eighth,  and  his  daughter 
Elizabeth, — past  Ross  Island  with  its  ancient  strong- 
hold of  the  O'Donoghoes,  past  the  mouth  of  Glcna 
Bay,  with  "  Dinis'  Green  Isle  "  seen  dimly  tlinough 
the  hazy  moon-light, — it  was  then  that  O'Sullivan's 
Voice  broke  the  silence. 

♦  Three  Abbeys,  for  nges  long  in  ruins,  pivo  a  more  moiirnful 
and  Holemii  beauty  to  tl"  tiui^ic  sct-nes  of  KDlaruey.  Tliesa 
are  Aghuboe,  on  a  high  iiill  in  figbt  of  the  Lower  Lake,  lunis- 
fulleu,  ou  the  ihIbikI  ot  thut  name,  aud  Muoi<Lza«ii>,  or  Irrulu^h. 
on  the  puflinBula  ol"  Muckru&M. 


^ 


■f ' 


^^-«-r^Iw«^ls«affllSPmr^i»»«>^«»<«^■N•li|^(■ 


mmmm 
mmmmm 


The  Fortunes  of  an  Irish  Chief. 


69 


! 


"  Had  we  but  music  on  board,"  said  he,  "  we 
might  sail  up  tlie  bay  to  the  Eagle's  Nest." 

"Musi'j  ne(3d  not  be  wanthig,"  said  Florence. 
"With  permission  of  the  Countess,  I  have  brought 
Lady  Ellen's  lute  ;  it  may  be  that  she  will  favor  us 
so  far  as  to  jjlay  somewhat.  I  dare  not  ask  such 
grace,  but  you,  Owen,  she  will  scarce  refuse  !" 

"  That  I  will  answer  for,"  said  O'SuUivan,  and 
the  Countess  in  a  low  voice,  told  her  daughter  at 
once  to  accede  to  the  request. 

Lady  Ellen  took  the  lute  from  the  hand  of  Flor- 
ence, though  it  must  be  owned,  with  no  gracious 
air,  and  while  the  boat  glided  up  the  narrow  chan- 
nel between 

"  Dinis'  green  isle,  and  Glona's  wooded  shore," 

played  a  strain  of  the  elder  time,    slow    and    sim- 
ple, such  as  "  Killarney's  wild  echoes"  best  repeat. 

The  air  was  a  sad  one,  and  as  the  fairy-like  echoes 
caught  it  up,  repeating  it  in  every  possible  way,  it 
seemed  as  though  the  spirits  of  the  dead  were  wail- 
ing on  every  craggy  steep  above,  and  along  the  sha- 
dowed waters  that  lay  beneath,  dark  as  the  river  of 
death.  While  all  listened,  as  if  entranced.  Lady 
Ellen  stopped  suddenly  and  laid  down  the  lute;  her 
lieart  was  sad  that  hour,  she  knew  not  why,  sad  and 
troubled,  and  her  own  mournful  music  was  more 
than  she  could  bear.  Yet  she  could  not,  and  would 
not,  wake  a  livelier  strain. 

No  one  spoke,  but  Ellen  folt  the  instrument  drawn 
gently  form  her  hand,  and  the  next  moment  a  bold* 


I 


i 


1'^ 


t> 


70 


MacCarthy  More;  or, 


er  hand  swept  its  chords  with  a  strange,  wild  pre- 
lude that  went  ringing  like  the  sound  of  many  trum- 
pets away  amongst  the  rocks  and  mountains.  Be- 
fore the  young  lady  had  recovered  from  the  first 
surprise,  the  strain  was  changed,  and  a  wild,  sweet 
Spanish  air  was  floating  on  the  night-breeze,  and 
breaking,  in  fitful  snatches,  from  lonely  caves  Avhere 
the  echoes  dwelt. 

The  air  was  the  same  that  for  months  long  had 
been  haunting  Ellen  MacCarthy,  and  its  every  note 
woke  an  echo  of  gladness  in  her  heart.  But  she  said 
not  a  word.  The  Countess  praised  the  air  and  asked 
what  it  was  callec)  Florence  answered  that  it  was 
a  Spanish  serenade  air,  mentioning  the  name  at  the 
same  time. 

"  You  have  heard  it  before,  Lady  Ellen?"  he 
carelessly  asked,  turning  to  the  silent  maiden  by  his 
side. 

"  To  be  sure  she  did,"  said  O'SuUivan  gleefully — 
"  and  I  heard  it,  too,  one  moonlight  night  last  har- 
vest at  Dunkerron  Castle,*  when  people  thought  I 
was  asleep.  But  I  suppose  little  Ellen  forgets  all 
about  that  night,"  he  added  in  a  humorous  tone. 

Lady  Ellen  was  silent,  but  there  was  one,  at  least, 
who  found  her  silence  more  eloquent  tlian  words. 

"  Is  Lady  Ellen  still  '  otherwise  disposed?'  "  whis- 
pered a  voice  at  her  side. 

*  Dunkerron  Castle,  situate  withiit  a  few  miles  of  Ken- 
mnre  town,  was  one  of  the  principal  strongholds  of  O  Siilii- 
van  More.  Near  it  was  Cappanacuss,  another  strong  cas- 
tle of  the  same  poweiful  chief. 


) 


This  Fortunes  op  an  Irish  Chief. 


71 


I 


The  answer  must  have  been  satisfactory,  for  the 
next  moment  Florence  took  the  lady's  hand,  and 
raised  it  to  his  lips.  Even  the  shadow  of  the  tower- 
ing Eagle's  Nest  did  not  hide  the  action  from  the 
watchful  eyes  of  fiiends^hip.  O'SuUivan  rubbed  his 
bands,  and  chuckled  merrily  to  himself,  as,  leaning 
across,  he  said  to  Ellen  in  a  low  voice — 

"  I  told  you  a  Spanish  minstrel  was  better  than 
Nicholas  Browne.  And  I  told  you,  too,  to  keep  up 
your  heart.  Methinks  I  am  somewhat  of  a  prophet, 
Aileen  dhu !" 

The  Countess  perfectly  understood  what  was  go- 
ing on,  but  she  chose  to  remain  a  silent  observer  of 
what,  nevertheless,  filled  her  heart  with  joy  and 
thankfulness. 

"  What  has  become  of  the  music  ?"  asked  O'SuUi- 
van, maliciously.  "  Hath  it  gone  to  sleep  with  the 
echoes  ?" 

"  Will  you  not  play  that  air  again,  Florence  ?" 
whispered  Lady  Ellen. 

Not  only  that  air,  but  many  others,  Irish  and 
Spanish,  did  Florence  play,  and  the  echoes  answer, 
as  the  boat  floated  down  the  stream  ai^ain  towards 
the  broad  expanse  of  the  Lower  Lake.  As  it  round- 
ed the  sharp  headland  at  Otter's  Point,  and  glided 
along  under  the  dark  woods  of  Muckruss  toward  the 
ancient  Abbey  of  Irrelagh,  the  accomplished  min^ 
Btrel  changed  the  lively  strain  he  had  last  played  to 
a  wild  and  mournful  air  that  thrilled  every  heart 
' — it  v/as  the  funeral  march  of  the  Clan  Caura,  whcoa 


■■^"*^'  - 


72 


Ma^cCarthy  Morr;  or 


time-honored    burying-place    they   were    approach* 
ing. 

For  a  brief  space  tlie  boat  stopped  when  the  Ab- 
bey was  in  sight,  solemn  and  mournful  in  tlie  e^ilence 
and  decay  to  which  the  ruflian  barbarism  of  English 
soldiers,  doing  the  will  of  the  ne\v  religion,  hadcon- 
sisj-ned  it  for  evermore. 

Grand  and  stately  was  the  music  and  I'ull  of  woe, 
and  as  the  oarsmen  rested  on  their  oars,  and  the 
gallowglasses  raised  their  barrads  in  honor  of  the 
noble  sleepers  within  the  ruined  pile,  it  seemed  as  if 
the  voices  of  the  dead  MacCarthys  rose,  hollow  and 
plaintive,  from  amid  the  tall  ancestral  trees  that  had 
for  ages  sheltered  their  last  repose,  joining  in  the 
solemn  and  familiar  strain. 

"  Ellen,"  said  Florence  MacCarthy,  laying  down 
the  lute,  as  the  boat  sped  on  again  over  the  bright 
waters  of  Castle  Louo-h  Bav,  where  a  castle  of  the 
MacCarthys  stood  on  a  small  island,  flinghig  its  sha- 
dows far  out  into  the  bay ;  "  Ellen,  it  is  there,  before 
the  ruined  shrine  of  Irrelagh,  over  the  ashes  of  our 
fathers,  that  I  should  wish  to  plight  my  faith  to  the 
fairest  daughter  of  Clan  Caura.  Say,  shall  it  so  be  ?" 

"It  is  a  strange  thought,  Florence,"  replied  El- 
len softly,  "  yet  I  nuslike  not  the  plan.  But  me- 
thinks  it  were  well,  before  you  talk  in  such  wise,  to 
speak  with  my  lady  mother  anent  the  matter." 

"  I  leave  that  to  you,  fair  lady  mine,"  said  Florence 
pleasantly,  and  he  laughed  low  to  himself. 

Lady  Ellen  that  night,  on  their  reaching  Pallice 


i 


■^v«. 


Tub  Fortunes  of  an  Irish  Chibf. 


73 


Castle,  threw  herself  into  her  mother's  arms,  aiul 
whispered — "Mother,  I  am  saved.  iJe  has  come  to 
save  me — to  make  me  his  own  dear  wife  !" 

**Iknow  it,  dear  one  !"  said  the  mother,  fondly 
kissing:  her  child's  white  forehead.  "  I  know  it,  and 
I  am  fiflad,  iilad  and  thankful." 

"  But  my  father " 

"  Hist !  child,  hist  I — let  no  one  hear  these  words : 
Your  father  knoivs  it^  too, — he  sent  Florence  hither. 
But  an'  it  were  known,  he  being  now  in  England,  he 
might  spend  the  remnant  of  his  days  in  the  Tower 
of  London,  and  never  see  Killarney's  hills  again." 

"  And  the  Browncs  ?" 

"Let  them  e'en  make  the  hest  of  it,"  said  the 
Countess,  more  sharply  than  was  usual  with  her. 
"  Had  they  not  looked  to  climb  so  high,  their  fall 
would  have  been  the  less,  and  their  disappointment 
the  more  pitied.  Come,  my  Aileeu,  let  us  to  our 
night  prayer.  We  have  much  to  thank  our  God  for 
this  happy  night !" 

And  a  happy  night  it  was ;  one  that  was  often  re- 
membered with  strangely-varying  emotions  in  the 
changeful  years  that  followed.  Alas  !  that  tlie  very 
brightness  of  the  recollection,  and  its  delicious 
charm,  should  serve  to  darken  and  embitter  still 
more  many  an  after  hour  of  gloom  and  anxious  care. 

Two  days  after,  when  the  moon  was  again  sinning 
on  the  desolate  Abbey  walls  in  the  last  hours  of 
night,  a  bridal  party  stood  before  the  ruined  shrine 
of  Muckruss,  where  the  altar  still  stood,  defaced  and 


74 


HacCartht  Morr;  ob 


broken.  The  light  of  day  might  not  witness,  in  those 
evil  days,  the  marriage  of  MacCarthy  INIore's  daugh- 
ter to  the  son  of  one  MacCarthy  Reagh,  and  the 
eon  of  another, — himself  the  lord  of  broad  ancestral 
domains  I 

Few  were  tlie  witnesses  of  tliat  marriage,  that  in 
other  times  would  have  gathered  together  princea 
and  chiefs,  and  lords,  and  ladies  from  more  than  one 
of  the  four  Provinces  of  Ireland.  O'SuUivan  More, 
MacFinan,  the  seneschal,  and  another  young  officer 
of  the  Earl's  household,  who  was  the  Lady  Ellen's 
foster-brother,  these,  with  the  Countess  and  Una 
O'Leary,  were  alone  pre&ent.  The  friar,  the  Earl's 
chaplain,  a  man  of  venerable  age,  who  said  Mass  and 
performed  the  ceremony,  was  one  of  those  who  In 
the  direful  days  of  Henry  VIII.,  were  expelled  from 
the  Abbey  at  the  sword's  point.  It  was,  truly,  a 
solemn  and  picturesque  scene,  suggestive  of  many  a 
mournful  rellection.  i 

No  bard  played,  no  dairseach  sounded,  no  clansman 
raised  his  joyous  cheer,  when  the  daughter  of  the 
MacCarthys  and  the  Geraldines  wed  her  equally  no- 
ble kinsman;  no  banner  waved,  no  spear  or  battle-axe 
gleamed  ;only  the  pale  moonlight  streaming  through 
the  roofless  aisle,  and  the  sickly  ray  of  two  small 
tapers  on  the  altar,  illumined  the  strange  scene. 
Amid  tlie  ghostly  shadows  of  the  ruined  fanes,  in 
silence  and  in  mystery,  where,  their  lordly  fathers 
slept  beneath.  Lady  Ellen  became  the  wife  of  Flo- 
rence MacCarthy. 


"'*-*-^'.j'  'tiwHwiimvmi'jt 


ip"'"'yi 


Tub  Fortunks  of  an  Irish  Ciiib?. 


75 


Little  did  Nicholas  Browne  dream  that  morning 
in  his  house  at  Molahiffe,  that  the  presumptuous 
hopes  he  had  cherished,  of  being  one  day  MacCarthy 
More's  son-in-law,  were  forever  blighted ;  that  the 
fair  and  rich  prize  he  had  so  coveted  was  even  then 
Bnatched  from  his  grasp. 


■, 


76 


MacCartiiy  Mork'  or. 


CHAPTER  V. 

Silently  and  secretly  as  tlie  inarriago  was  perform- 
ed, the  news  sped  like  wild-fire,  throughout  the  Prov- 
ince, that  Florence  MacCarthy  had  wooed  and  won 
the  lieiress  of  Clan  Carthy's  Earl  I  Tlie  clans  of 
Cork  and  Kerry  heard  it,  and  were  glad.  The 
Brownes  heard  it,  and  rage  and  mortification,  and 
the  thirst  of  vengeance,  filled  their  souls.  The  Queen's 
officials  heard  it ;  Sir  Thomas  Norreys  heard  it,  and 
sore  amazed  and  discomiited  at  the  clever  trick  Flor- 
ence had  played  him,  and  dreading,  moreover,  the 
Queen's  anger,  he  sent  a  posse  of  soldiers  into  Kerry 
with  all  haste,  and  in  the  chief  castle  of  MacCarthy 
More,  within  the  walls  of  the  Pallice,  were  Florence 
MacCarthy  and  his  young  bride,  the  aged  Countess, 
MacFinan,  and  Lady  Ellen's  foster-brother,  arrested  ; 
even  poor  little  Una  O'Leary  was  duly  taken  into 
custody  as  "  the  Queen's  prisoner !"  Luckily  for 
O'Sullivan  he  had  gone  home  before  the  arrival  of 
the  troops,  and  succeeded  in  keeping  himself  out  of 
the  way  till  the  storm  had  blown  over.  It  was  the 
solitary  consolation  of  the  so  lately  happy  party  that 
the  priest,  too,  was  saved  from  falling  into  the  hands 
of  those  who  literally  thirsted  for  the  blood  of  every 
minister  of  the  ancient  faith.  To  him  capture  would 
have  been  cruel  and  most  certain  death  I 


' 


Tub  Fortdnks  of  an  Irisu  Chief. 


77 


Florence  MacCarihy,  MticFinan,  nnd  Tca!]jae  Meri- 
gagh,  the  ])rido's  foster-brolher,  were  conveyed  to 
Cork,  and  lodged  under  bolt  and  bar ;  the  Countess 
\va8  taken  to  the  strong  fortress  of  Castlemaine,  in 
Kerry,  but  Lady  Ellen  and  her  fomalo  attendant 
wei-e  placed  "  under  proper  surveillance'''  at  the  house 
of  an  English  "merchant  of  the  city."*  Sad  and  sud- 
den ending  to  a  season  of  happinesiJ  all  too  brief ! 

People,  now-a  days,  may  ask  in  surprise  what  con- 
cern it  was  of  Sir  Thomas  Norreys,  or  of  Queen 
Elizabeth,  that  the  daughter  of  an  Irish  chieftain 
should  marry,  with  the  consent  of  her  nearest  rela- 
tives, a  young  gentleman  of  her  own  race,  every 
way  suitable  for  her  husband.  Nevertheless,  so  much 
did  it  concern  even  the  royal  Elizabeth  herself,  that 
when  she  read  the  letter  in  which  Norreys  informed 
her  that  Florence  MaeCarthy,  having,  on  false  pre- 
tences, got  his  warrant  to  go  into  Desmond,  had 
married  his  cousin  "  in  an  old  broken  church  near 
by,"  and,  it  was  feared,  "  with  Mass  and  Popish 
rites, — not  in  such  solemnity  and  good  sort  as  be- 
hoved, and  as  order  of  law  and  her  Majesty's  in- 
junction doth  require" — the  gentle  Tudor  princess 
burst  into  a  fearful  passion,  stormed  and  swore,  as 
was  her  wont,  and  vowed  a  terrible  vengeance  on 
all  and  every  one  who  iiad  aided  in  this  "  treason- 
able practice,"  as  she  and  lier  ministers  styled  the 
marriage.     x\nd  why  all  this  fury  ?     Simply  because 

*  Why  the  prisoners  wore  not  all  lodged  in  Cork  jail  is 
matter  of  conjecture.  Some  historians  have  it  that  they 
were  arrested  at  diifcrent  times  aud  in  different  places. 


A 


78 


MacCartiiy  More;  ob, 


'•♦ 


of  the  very  advantages  of  birth  •  and  alliance  which 
made  Florence  so  acceptable  a  son-in-hiw  to  theEiul 
and  Countess  of  Clancarthy.  Right  well  would  it 
have  pleased  the  Queen  had  she  heard  of  Lady  El- 
len's marriage  with  Nicholas  Browne,  the  surveyor's 
son,  or,  indeed,  any  other  "  loyal  English  gentleman  ;'* 
but,  alas  !  for  the  Englisli  interest  and  the  new  reli- 
gion, the  case  was  far,  far  diflerent.  Florence  Mao- 
Carthy,  wrote  Norreys  and  St.  Leger,  was  "  one  of 
tlie  best  affected  gentlemen  of  the  Irishry  in  Mun- 
Bter  ;"  he  was  "  beloved  of  all  his  nation  ;"  was  "  fer- 
vently attached  to  the  old  religion,"  and  "  much  fre- 
quented the  company  of  Spaniards,  whose  language 
he  had  learned."  To  crown  the  long  list  of  the 
young  gentleman's  offeiices,  he  was  onnected  by 
birth  or  marriage  with  nearly  all  the  great  families 
"  of  the  Irishry ;"  he  was  the  favorite  nephew  of  Mac- 
Carthy  Reagh,  Lord  of  Carbcry,  the  brother-in-law 
of  O'SuUivan  More,  the  nephew  of  James  FitzMau- 
rice,  the  arch-traitor,  the  first  cousin  of  MacCarthy, 
Lord  of  Muskerry,  whose  mother  was  another  sister 
of  FitzMaurice,  the  nephew  of  Lord  Roche,  who  had 
married  the  third  of  the  FitzMaurice  sisters,  and  the 
uncle  of  O'Connor  Kerry,  whose  mother  was  his  sis- 
ter !  Here  was,  surely,  sufficient  cause  why  he  should 
not  have  been,  by  any  manner  of  means,  the  son-in- 
law  of  the  great  Earl  of  Clancarthy.  "  For,"  wrote 
St.  Leger  and  Norreys,  "  if  this  alliance  be  not  pre- 
vented, it  will  breed  much  trouble,  and  cause  much 
loss  to  her  Majesty."    All  that  could  bo   done  ha<] 


Thb  Fobtones  ov  an  Ibibu  Cuibf. 


79 


bo^vii  (lone,  her  Majesty  was  informecl,  by  the  arrest 
of  tlie  otreiidhig  parlies,  who  had  dared  to  "  prao- 
lice"  a  step  so  undutiful  and  so  ungrateful  to  their 
BO voreign  liege,  tlie  Queen!  The  only  trouble  waa 
that  O'Siillivan  More  luul  not  yet  been  apprehended, 
but  of  that  there  was  good  hope. 

In  the  midst  of  her  towering  passion,  the  Queen 
suddenly  remembered  that  tlie  Earl  of  Clancarthy 
was  actually  in  London,  and  him  slie  forthwith  sum- 
moned to  her  presence,  exulting  in  the  thought  that 
he,  at  least,  was  m  her  very  clutches.  Both  Norreya 
and  St.  Leger  had  stated  it  as  the  current  opuiion 
that  the  marriage  was  not  accomplished  without  the 
Earl's  "  connivance." 

ISTow,  Donald  ]\racCarthy  More  was  not  the  nr.an 
who  might  be  expected  to  bi-ave  the  fury  of  Eliza- 
beth Tudor  with  any  shew  of  composure.  And  yet 
he  did  ;  his  face,  prematurely  old,  from  his  disorderly 
life,  yet  still  stamped  with  the  nobility  of  his  race, 
was  calm  and  unmoved,  as  he  stood  the  fire  of  that 
lightning  glance  before  which  the  bravest  and  stout- 
est had  often  quailed. 

"How  now,  Earl?"  said  the  enraged  lioness, 
*•  svhat  wicked  treason  is  this  that  hath  been  wrought 
of  late  m  your  country  ?  Is  it  true  what  they  tell 
me,  that  you  have  compassed  a  match  for  your 
daughter  without  our  knowledge* or  consent?" 

"  If  so  be  that  the  marriage   hath    taken   place, 


mine  honored  liege,"  made  answer  MacCarthy, 
fore  God,  I  know  not  of  it." 


(( 


be- 


m 


80 


MacCarthy  More;  or, 


"  By  the  soul  of  our  father  !"  ^^aid  the  Queen,  with 
still  iucrea^^inn;  furv,  "  but  this  is  too  mueh.  W'^ould 
you  have  us  believe,  my  Lord  of  Clancarthy,  that 
this  gentleman  who  hath  proved  himself  so  unwor- 
thy of  the  many  favors  we  had  bestowed  upon  him, 
went  from  here  en  such  errand  withoat  your  know- 
ledge ?     Speak,  man,  and  speak  truly  !" 

A  slight  confusion  was  visible  in  the  Earl's  man- 
ner, as  he  replied — "  Something  of  the  matter  Flor- 
ence said  to  me,  but  I  gave  him  for  answer  that 
without  your  Majesty's  consent  I  would  not,  for  all 
the  world,  allow  my  daughter  to  marry  him.  This  I 
said  before  witness." 

"  How  sayest  thou  !  before  witness  ! — before  Tvrhat 
witness  V"  cried  the  Queen  in  a  tone  of  incredulity. 

"Before  gentlemen  of  as  good  account  as  any  in 
Munster." 

"Are  they  of  loyal  demeanor?  well  aifGcted  tow* 
ards  us  ?" 

"  Surely,  yes! — your  Majesty  may  have  them  be- 
fore you,  an'  you  will,  or  before  your  honorable 
Council.     They  are  now  in  London." 

'  Write  down  their  names  I"  said  the  Queen  to  her 
Secretary,  Sir  Francis  Walsinghara,  who  was  present. 

The  witnesses  were  live  Irish  gentlemen  ot  honor 
and  credit,  and,  as  it  happened,  of  "  loyal  demea- 
nor, '  as  Walsingham  certilled,  after  referring  to  a 
list  of  the  disaffected  in  Munster. 

"  Have  them  summoned  before  tiie  Council !'  said 
the  Queen  to  Walsingham.     "  For  you,  my  Lord  of 


The  Foetunes  of  an  Irish  Chief. 


81 


Clancarthy,  see  that  you  leave  not  tliis,  our  city  of 
London,  without  our  knowledge." 

"  Most  gracious  Queen,"  said  the  Irish  Earl,  "  if 
this  marriage  hath  been  practised,  without  my 
knowledge  or  consent,  I  must  crave  permission  to 
recover  my  daughter^  if  so  be  I  can,  from  this  cun- 
nins:  traitor  wiio  halh  deceived  us  all.  She  bein'j 
still  under  age,  the  marriage  may  be  broken,  au'  it 
please  your  highness." 

Miglitily  the  suggestion  did  please  her  highness, 
and  much  did  it  serve  to  remove  suspicion  of  "  con- 
nivance from  the  Earl, 

The  Queen  sv  ore  a  round  oath  that  the  thought 
was  a  good  one,  and,  by  Avay  of  consolation,  she  in- 
formed the  aggrieved  i)arent  tliat  his  A"ife  and  daugh- 
t^v,  and  "  all  those  who  had  been  parties  to  the  mar- 
riage," were  in  prison  ;  "  0 'Sullivan  More,  the  chief 
adviser,  as  it  seemeth,  hath  flone  escaped  the  vigi- 
lance of  our  faithful  servants,"  said  the  Queen,  some- 
v/hat  appeased. 

Smiling  to  himself  at  her  Majesty's  strange  pro" 
nunciation  of  O'Sullivan's  name,  which  in  her  mouth 
was  O'S-owl-i-van,  the  Earl  gravely  shook  his  head, 

"  I  fear  me  much  that  O'Sullivan's  escape  may 
breed  trouble,"  said  he ;  "  natheless,  with  your 
Majesty's  gracious  aid,  we  may  rciiedy  the  mischief, 
I  cannot  but  blame  my  wife  for  giving  in  to  these 
practices.  The  woman  hath  ever  been  of  weak  mind 
*— "  he  was  going  to  add — "  like  her  late  unhappy 
brother  of  Desmond,"  but  he  luckily  remembered 


82 


MacCabthy  More;  or, 


that  ?t  "was  not  advisable  to  remind  the  Queen  of  his 
own  so  near  connection  with  that  ill-fated  Earl. 

The  five  gentlemen  "  of  loyal  demeanor"  who  had, 
so  fortunately  for  the  Earl,  been  present  on  the  occa- 
sion, duly  testi6cd  before  her  Majesty's  Privy  Coun- 
cil that  they  had  heard  the  Earl  of  Clancarthy  posi- 
tively refuse  to  give  his  daughter  m  marriage  to 
Florence  MacCarthy,  inless  he  ol>tained  the  Queen's 
sanction  to  the  marriage.*  What  with  their  testi- 
mony, and  the  shew  of  displeasure  made  by  the  Earl 
in  regard  to  the  undutiful  conduct  of  his  wife  and 
daughter,  not  to  speak  of  Florence, — Donald  Mac- 
Carthy More  remained  a  free  man  in  London,  whilst 
Ihe  storm  of  Elizabeth's  anger  was  venting  itself  on 
all  concerned  m  the  obnoxious  marriage. 

It  was  well  for  the  reckless  head  of  Clan  Caura 
that  the  Queen  did  not  see  the  merry  twinkle  of  his 
eye,  or  hear  his  soliloquy,  as  he  wended  his  way  to 
his  lodging  in  the  Strand. 

"Truly,  Florence  hath  a  long  head.  Ay!  and  a 
sharp  wit!"  said  the  noble  father-in-law  to  himself, 
with  a  complacent  chuckle;  "now,  w  lo  but  ho 
would  have  thought  of  having  me  say,  with  wit- 
ness present,  that  I  would  never  give  in  to  his  mar- 
riage with  Ailecn,  failing  the  Queen's  consent  ?  Ila  I 
ha  I  ha !    The  Queen's  consent !    As  though  Mac- 

•  The  nanifs  of  the.so  "  honorablf  gentU^mrn  "  were  as  fol- 
lows :  Ilicliard  Power,  J  ime8  Triint,  Donis  Palvey,  Patrick 
Galway,  and  Dermod  L<  ynn.  Their  testimony  was  to  the  effect 
that  the  Earl  had  givwn  monni/  deeds  to  Florence  MacCartliy  in 
their  presence,  but  witl;  the  express  proviso  that  all  was  uuU  in 
law  unless  the  Queen  gav«  her  consent. 


^ 


1 


m 


^ 


i 


1 


Thk  Foktunes  op  an  Irish  Chief. 


88 


Carthy  Moie  must  needs  usk  tlie  consent  of  Harry 
Tudor's  base-born  daughter  to  marry  hts  daughter  to 
whosoever  he  Avilll  Truly,  Florei:  'C  hath  played  his 
cards  well,  and  between  us,  we  have  led  the 
Brownes  a  merry  dance  !  Weie  Tlorence  but  safe 
out  of  tlie  casce  now,  I  warrant  he  would  make  all  c:o 
smoothly.  A  long  head  hath  Florence  MacDonogh, 
aud  he  knows  this  game  of  state-craft  as  weil,  me- 
thuiks,  as  old  Cecil  hinisell!" 

Little  cared  the  profligate  J^'arl,  while  exulting  in 
the  successful  strategy  which  had  kept  himself  out- 
side the  Tower  walls,  that  his  noble  and  virtuous 
wife  was  then  the  inmate  of  an  Irish  prison,  subjected 
to  all  manner  of  indignity  and  uisult,  and  deprived  of 
the  ordinary  comtorts  of  life  !  Had  the  heart  within 
him  been  one  whit  less  hard  and  selfish  than  it  was, 
it  would  have  been  cold  and  heavy  at  the  thought 
that  the  partner  of  his  life,  the  mother  of  his  children, 
the  daughter  of  a  right  noble  race,  was  the  prisoner 
of  Elizabetli's  heartless  minions,  torn  from  her  home 
in  her  declining  years  for  simply  obeying  his  com- 
mands. Ilis  young  daughter,  too,  and  the  husband 
he  had  himscif:'  given  her!  But  nothing  of  this 
troubl'id  the  ignoble  soul  of  Donald  MacCarthy,  with 
whom  sf//"  was  ever  the  one  supreme  object.  So  he 
went  his  way  rf\joicing.  lie,  at  least,  had  escaped 
Elizabeth's  ire 

Happily  for  the  poor  Countess,  there  was  one  to 
compassionate  her  unmerited  suiforings.  There  was 
one   to   remember  that  she  had  once  been  the  ad- 


ill 


! 


II  ' 


M 


U 


'. -^, 


h 


84 


MacCarthy  More;  or, 


mired  and  courted  Lady  Ilonora  Fitzgerald,  daughter 
of  the  Earl  of  Desmond,  and  was  now  the  Countess 
of  Clancartliy,  respected  by  all  save  her  unworthy 
husband. 

This  compassionate  friend  was  not  of  the  Irish,  nor 
yet  of  the  Angjo-Irish  race;  he  was  one  of  the  re- 
cent undertakers,  and  his  name  was  Sir  William  Her- 
bert ;  a  stern,  dark-faced  man  of  purely  English  blood, 
respected  by  all  men  for  his  high  principle  and 
moral  worth,  though  little  loved  by  his  brother- 
undertakers,  for  reasons  to  be  shown  hereafter.* 

Now,  Sir  William  Herbert  being  a  magistrate, 
had  ample  power  to  exercise  his  humane  feelmgs;  so 
one  bright  day  in  the  early  part  of  July  he  went  to 
Castlemaine,  and,  without  let  or  hindrance,  took  the 
Countess  of  Clancarthy  and  the  maid  who  accom- 
panied her,  and  merely  teljing  the  jailor  that  he 
would  be  answerable  for  the  lady's  appearance,  con- 
ducted her,  with  the  respect  due  to  her  rank  and  sta- 
tion, to  his  own  Castle  of  the  Island,  some  miles  dis- 
tant, where  suitable  apartments  were  given  her,  and 
the  kind  Herbert  family  did  all  that  refined  attention 
could  to  make  the  noble  lady  forget  that  she  was  a 
prisoner. 

Good  Sir  William  sat  down  then  and  penned  a 
letter  to  Sir  Francis  Walsingham,  the  Queen's  Sec- 
retary, which  betipeaks  at  once  his  hunianity   and 

*  Sir  William  was  the  ancestor  of  the  present  Ilerlterts  of 
Killaniey,  who  still  retuiu  the  honorable  c-haractcri^ticfs  ot  their 
sturdy  ])rogenitor.  Ihey  are  good  landlords,  and.  therefore, 
much  beloved  by  their  tenantry,  the  descendants  of  the  very 
ohiefd  and  clansmen  whoso  hiucTs  they  now  possess. 


\1 


I' 


* 


f 


TuK  Fortunes  of  an  Irisu  Cuirf, 


a  sense  of  justice  that  is  truly  marvellous  in  an  Eng- 
lish undertaker  of  that  day  in  Ireland.  And  yet  the 
letter  contained  some  passages  that  are  eminently 
cLaracteristic  of  that  au;e.  Whilst  informing  the 
Queen's  Secretary  that  he  had  taken  it  upon  him,  as 
an  old  and  faitliful  servant  of  the  Queen,  to  remove 
the  Countess  of  Clancarthy  from  the  "  damp,  un- 
wholesome prison  "  to  which  she  had  been  conveyed, 
he  excused  the  step  by  saying  that  the  Countess  of 
Clancarthy,  besides  being  "  ever  of  very  modest  and 
good  demeanor — though  matched  with  one  most  dis- 
orderly and  dissolute" — was  "far  stricken  in  years,  and 
without  hope  of  children"  therefore  "to  be  favored!" 
Furthermore,  Sir  William,  in  his  apology,  gravely 
informed  the  right  worshipful  secretary  that  it  was 
rumored  in  tliose  parts  that  the  Earl's  attempt  to 
throw  the  blame  .of  the  marriage  on  his  wdfe,  was 
made  with  a  view  to  have  her  so  brou<2cht  to  shame 
and  trouble  that  it  would  shorten  her  days,  and 
leave  him  at  liberty  to  contract  a  new  marriage, 
"  whereby  the  Queen's  remainder  might  be  imper- 
illed" 

The  modern  reader  may  not  know  that,  in  case  of 
the  Earl's  death  without  issue  male,  his  vast  posses- 
sions were  to  pass  over  to  the  Queen  of  England  ;  he 
having  been  induced  some  years  before  to  surrender 
his  lands  to  her  Majesty,  and  accept  them  back  as 
her  gift,  together  with  his  Earl's  patent !  Hence,  it 
was  a  valid  excuse  for  Herbert's  removing  the  Coun- 
tess from  her  prison  to  his  castle,  that  she  "  was  far 


tW 

m 


I 


It 


.4^: 


I 


86 


MacCartiiy  Mouk;  or 


Btricken  in  years,  and  without  hope  of  children," 
so  that  her  Majesty's  "  Great  Expectations"  touching 
MacCarthy  More's  principality,  Avere  no  wise  "  imper- 
illed." 

But  to  return  to  Florence  and  his  young  wife, 
whom  we  left  im})risoned  within  the  grim  walls  of  the 
ancient  City  by  the  Lee,  The  captivity  of  the  Earl's 
son-in-law  was  not  so  irksome  as  might  be  imagined. 
Whether  it  was  that  the  Vice-President  had  given 
orders  to  make  his  imprisonment  as  light  as  pos- 
sible, or  that,  in  the  absence  of  anj'-  special  command 
on  the  sulyect,  the  Cork  jailers  took  it  upon  them- 
selves to  give  the  wealthy  young  MacCarthy  the  full 
benefit  of  his  ample  means,  it  is  certain  that  his 
hours  were  blithely  spent  while  in  their  custody. 
His  friends  were  allowed  to  visit  him  at  will,  and  he 
was,  moreover,  free  to  entertain  them,  which  he  did 
with  a  right  good  will.  Mirth  and  good  cheer 
abounded  in  the  spacious  apartment  which  money 
had  procured  fur  him,  and  what  he  valued  most  of 
all, — as,  indeed,  it  was  the  most  remarkable  privi- 
lege he  enjoyed, — his  young  bride  was  not  debarred 
from  visithig  him.  It  is  true,  Lady  Elhm's  visits 
were  not  made  openly  as  those  of  the  others  ;  much 
caution  was  observed  by  the  turnkeys  in  her  going 
in  and  coming  out,  but  this  air  of  mystery 
that  shrouded  their  interviews  served  but  to  in- 
crease the  joy  of  meeting,  and  gave  a  still  more  po- 
tent charm  to  those  swiftly-passing  hours  they  spent 
together  within  the  gloomy  prison   walls.     Sitting 


If 


, 


« 


r 


H) 


i 


The  Foktunrs  of  an  Irish  ,Ciiirf. 


87 


lonely  in  her  semi-confinement,  in  the  quaint  old 
house  of  the  Cork  trader,  where  slie  was  placed  for 
sale  keeping,  on  her  liusband's  security  given  by 
bond,  the  young  daughter  of  Clancarthy  whiled 
away  the  tedious  hours  between  her  visits  to  the  pri- 
son, by  talking  with  her  faithful  Una  over  the  strange 
events  of  the  last  few  weeks.  There  was  in  the  house 
an  ancient  spinnet  that  had  belonged  to  some  de- 
parted member  of  the  trader's  family,  and  as  the 
young  lady  had,  happily,  learned  its  use,  it  served  to 
beguile  some  of  the  weary  hours.  Lady  Ellen  was 
not  much  given  to  thought,  nor  was  she  of  an  ima- 
ginalive  turn ;  she  was  one  of  those  who  are  fain  to 
take  what  good  they  can  out  of  the  world  and  pass- 
ing CTonts,  troubling  themselves  little,  or  none  at  all, 
about  future  contingencies.  Having,  by  nature,  fully 
as  much  of  her  father's  common-place  character,— 
it  might  be  even  more  than  of  her  mother's  more  re- 
fined and  thoughtful  temperament, — the  young  heir- 
ess seldom,  if  ever,  thought  of  anything  beyond  the 
present  hour,  or  the  evil  immediately  threatening 
herself,  whatever  that  might  be.  It  must  be  some- 
thing directly  affecting  herself  that  had  power  to 
gladden  or  sadden  her  young,  light  heart. 

It  is  true,  she  felt  keenly  this,  her  first  separation 
from  her  mother,  and  her  tears  flowed  many  a  time 
when  she  thought  of  her  sad  and  lonely  state  in  the 
gloomy  fortress  of  Castiemaine,  far  away  from  kith 
and  kin,  from  home  and  friends.  Even  when  with 
Florence,  she  sometimes  gave  way  to  despondency,  . 


-^  '-. 


i  i 


h.^h 


80 


88 


MacCartiiy  More;  or, 


while  talking  of  her  mother,  and,  with  the  petulance 
of  a  froward  child,  blamed  her  marriage  as  the  un- 
lucky cause  of  so  much  miscliief. 

Florence  smiled  as  he  listened  to  these  girlish 
complaints,  well  knowing  that  he  had  the  power  of 
soothing  away  the  cares  and  sorrows  that  rested  so 
lightly  on  his  young  wife's  heart. 

One  day,  wlien  Lady  Ellen  came  to  visit  him,  he 
met  her  with  a  face  of  joy  that  at  once  attracted  her 
attention.  It  was  so  different  from  his  usual  expres- 
sion of  anxious  care. 

" "Why,  how  is  this,  Florence?"  she  asked,  "you 
look  as  though  you  had  received  some  glad  tidings  T'* 

"And  truly,  so  I  have.  Heard  you  no  news,  you 
who  live  abroad  in  the  city  ?"    Ellen  shook  her  head. 

"Then  am  I  better  served  in  prison.  I  have 
heard  that  your  lady  mother  hath  been  taken  from 
Castlemaine  prison  by  Sir  William  Herbert,  on  his 
own  bail,  and  lodged  in  his  Castle  of  the  Island  !" 

"  Now,  may  heaven  bless  him  for  that  good  deed  !" 
said  the  young  lady,  with  a  glowing  cheek  and  a 
moistened  eye,  "  I  forgive  him  all,  were  he  fifty  un- 
dertakers. But,  Florence',  know  you  this  for  cer- 
tain ?" 

"  That  do  I,  my  little  wife  ! — I  had  it  from  one  of 
mine  own  men  who  came  hither  yesternight  with  the 


news. 


?j 


"  Now,  then,  I  am  happy !"  said  Lady  Ellen,  as 
she  threw  back  the  hood  from  off  her  face,  and  laid 
Jjer  head  on  her  husband's  shoulder. 


t 


|> 


1 

f 


f> 


Tub  Fortunes  of  an  Irish  Chirp. 


89 


"Happy,  Ellen  !  and  I  in  jail, — yourself  a  captive, 
your  mother,  too,  and  others  of  our  friends,  all  on 
our  account !" 

"  Yea,  happy,  Florence,  I  said,  and  said  truly. 
But  tell  me,  how  is  it,"  she  said,  with  a  look,  of 
newly-awakened  curiosity,  "how  is  it  that  my  father 
hath  not  been  arrested,  though  he  be  in  London  ?  hath 
no  suspicion  fallen  on  him  ?" 

Florence  MacCarthy  laughed,  a  low,  inward  laugh 
peculiar  to  himself.  "Suspected  he  was,  Ellen,  and 
matters  might  have  gone  hard  with  him,  too,  but 
that  provision  was  made  beforehand  for  his  safety. 
Nay,  no  questions,  little  one  !  such  heads  as  this," 
fondly  stroking  her  raven  liair,  "  need  not  be 
tioubled  carrving  men's  secrets.  You  would  be  too 
wise,  an'  you  knew  everything  !" 

Lady  Ellen  was  quite  willing  to  be  1  ft  in  ignor- 
ance on  that,  or,  indeed,  any  other  subject.  She  had 
already  learned  to  look  up  to  Florence's  wisdom  and 
knowledge  as  something  far  beyond  her  com  prehen- 
sion, and  it  needed  not  this  new  proof  of  his  far- 
reaching  foresight  to  make  her  regard  him  with  ad- 
miration in  those  early  'days  of  their  married  life. 
They  were  bright  days,  after  all,  notwithstanding 
their  surroundings. 

Nor  did  this  escape  the  keen  eyes  of  their  deadly 
foes,  the  Brownes.  Fierce  in  love  and  in  hate,  Nich- 
olas Browne,  who  had  really  set  his  heart  on  the 
Earl's  dark-haired  daughter,  and  had  coveted  her  no 
less  than  the  broad  domains  she  was  to  inherit,— 


] 


ri 


I 


M: 


•J"  <■ 


i 


a.H 


;^ 


90 


MacCarthy  More;  or, 


now  hated  with  a  mortal,  implacable  hatred,  the  man 
who  had  rohbed  him  of  the  lady  and  her  lands.  The 
deserted  bridegroom  of  Molahiffc  henceforth  lived 
but  to  revenge  himself  on  the  successful  rival  who, 
like  the  young  Lochinvar  of  Scottish  song,  had  borne 
away  in  triumph  the  prize  of  which  he  had  thought 
himself  sure,  and  left  him  to  "dangle  his  bonnet  and 
plume." 

His  first  step,  in  the  way  of  revenge,  was  to  ap- 
prise O'Sullivan  Beare, — whose  daughter  it  was 
Bupposcd  that  Florence  would  have  married, — of 
what  had  occurred.  The  hot  blood  of  the  Kerry 
chieftain  boiled  with  indiijnation  at  the  news,  and 
the  lightning  flash  of  his  eye,  and  the  dark  frown 
that  gathered  on  his  brow  gladdened  the  heart  of 
Nicholas  Browne;  he  knew  that  he  had  made  an- 
other and  a  powerful  enemy  for  Florence.  The 
thought  was  balm  to  his  heart. 

The  next  move  was  made  by  Sir  Valentine,  his 
worthy  progenitor, — with  a  heart  full  of  bitterness  the 
quondam  surveyor  had  betaken  himself  to  Dublin, 
there  to  hover  around  the  Viceregal  court,  in  expec- 
tation of  some  fortunate  turn  of  affairs  that  might 
enable  him  and  his  to  recover  the  ground  they  had 
lost  by  Florence  MacCarthy's  bold  and  masterly 
couji  de  main.  The  month  of  October  brought  a 
letter  from  Sir  Valentine  in  Dublin,  to  Sir  F.  Wal- 
singham  in  London,  complaining  that  his  three  sons 
who  were  settled  on  the  Earl  of  Clancarthy's  lands 
were  in  great  danger  of  being  dispossessed,  for  that 


4 


i 


The  Fortunks  of  an  Irish  Cuirf. 


91 


I 


all  the  MacCarthys  were  now  likely  to  join  against 
them,  and  that  the  horsemen  heretofore  allowed  each 
undertaker  by  the  Queen's  government,  were,  by 
advice  of  Sir  William  Herbert,  to  be  recalled,  or  left 
to  be  supported  at  the  sole  charge  of  t^aid  undertak- 
ers. This,  Sir  Valentine  said,  would  be  utter  ruin 
to  his  three  sons  aforesaid,  and  many  other  loyal 
gentlemen  who  could  by  no  means  afford  to  pay 
these  horsemen,  and  if  left  to  their  own  servants 
would  be  undoubtedly  set  upon  by  the  Irish  lords 
of  countries,  who  unjustly  claimed  the  lands.  To 
crown  all  the  grievances  of  Sir  Valentine  and  his 
three  sons,  "  Florence  MacCarthy  remaineth  in  Cork 
with  the  resort  of  his  friends  and  the  EarVs  daughter ^ 
with  small  restraint,  he  rather  rejoiceth  with  ban- 
quettings  than  that  he  seemeth  sorry  for  his  con- 
tempt !"  And  then,  to  make  matters  still  worse, 
Florence  and  his  friends,  he  alleged,  were  giving 
out  that  the  Queen  had  not  forbidden  the  marriage, 
and  that  she  would  soon  be  broucrht  to  restore 
Florence  to  favor,  and  give  him  the  right  of  suc- 
cession to  his  fatlier-in-law's  vast  possessions. 

What  effect  these  artfully-framed  complaints 
had  in  London  remahis  to  be  seen.  They  were 
strengthened  and  enforced,  be  it  remembered,  by 
the  earnest  remonstrances  of  Norreys  and  St.  Leger, 
and  also  by  those  of  the  Queen's  Bishop  of  Cork, 
all  of  whom  pamted  in  vivid  colors  the  sad  re- 
sults that  might  and  would  follow  this  union  of 
the  two  chief  branches  of  the  MacCarthy  sept,  eon* 


i 

\ 
!'■ 

in 


m 


if':-' 


m 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


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2.2 


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Photographic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


23  WfcST  f.«;  "N  STRHT 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 
(716)  873-4503 


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\ 


6^ 


<-■ 


92 


MacCarthy  Morb;  or, 


nected,  too,  with  several  of  the  Geraldine  familieb, 
representing  to  her  Majesty  that  the  only  \  ay  to 
prevent  all  tliis  mischief  was  to  annul  the  mar- 
riage, and  to  endeavor,  if  possible,  to  cut  off 
Florence's  right  of  succession  to  the  Lordship  ot 
Carbcry.  With  so  many  and  such  powerful  ene- 
mies, hard  it  was  for  Florence  MacCarthy  to 
hold  his  ground. 


I 


lieb, 
y  to 
nar- 
off 
p  ot 
ene- 
to 


Tub  Fortunes  of  an  Ibish  Ch»f. 


98 


CnAPTER  VI. 

One  sad  day  there  was  mourning  in  Cork  jail. 
Orders  had  come  from  England  to  remove  Florence 
MacCarthy  to  Dublin,  and  the  young  wife  of  four 
months  was  called  to  see  her  husband,  it  may  be  for 
the  last  time,  while  the  Queen's  messengers  waited  to 
do  their  errand  and  convey  him  on  board  a  royal  ves- 
sel then  lying  in  the  harbor. 

"  Oh  Florence  !  Florence  !'*  she  cried,  as  she  clung 
to  him,  sobbing  and  in  tears,  at  the  last  moment, 
"  would  that  I  had  never  become  your  wife,  when 
this,  this  is  the  penalty  ! — How  is  it  that  the  meanest 
of  my  father's  clansmen  can  marry  whom  he  will, 
whilst  you  and  I  must  needs  have  leave  from  Eng- 
land ?"  '       . 

"  Hush,  darling  !"  whispered  her  more  politic  hus- 
band, "  you  forget  that  walls  have  ears  in  a  prison ! 
Were  vou  better  skilled  in  certain  matters,  I  would 
tell  you  more  than  now  I  do  or  can.  Be  sure,  how- 
ever,'that  the  Brownes  are  at  the  bottom  of  all  this. 
You  are  but  a  child  in  worldly  wisdom,"  he  tenderly 
added,  "  else  you  would  have  no  need  to  ask  where- 
fore it  is  that  neither  you  nor  I, — but  especially  you, 
— was  free  to  marry,  without  the  Queen's  good 
leave." 

Seeing  a  turnkey's  head  protruding  through  the 
half-open  door,  Florence  said  aloud,  "  Commend  me 


94 


MacGartut  Mokk;  or, 


to  your  lady  mother,  if,  perciiance,  it  please  our  gra- 
cious Queen  to  shorten  the  tern^  of  her  imprison- 
ment and  yours,  that  so  you  may  return  in  peace 
to  your  father's  castle  of  the  Pallice.  And  so,  fare- 
well !  my  wife  !  my  Ellen ! — think  of  me  as  I  will 
think  of  you,  and  be  of  good  heart,  dear  one,  for  the 
Queen's  goodness  will  soon  restore  us  to  each  other." 

Smothering  her  grief  as  best  she  could.  Lady  El- 
len rejoined  her  attendant,  who  awaited  her  at  the 
gate,  and  returned  to  her  lonely  room,  lonelier  than 
ever.  Drearily  and  wearily  her  days  now  passed  ; 
no  mother,  no  husband,  no  friend  to  cheer  or  comfort 
her  drooping  spirit.  Una  was  the  only  one  left  to 
whom  she  could  speak  of  her  own  affairs,  for  her 
husband  had  specially  warned  her  to  keep  a  close 
mouth  in  her  intercourse  with  the  people  of  the 
house  where  she  lodged,  so  as  to  avoid  saying  any- 
thing that  might  be  used  against  him,  herself,  or  any 
one  concerned  in  the  marriage. 

Time  rolled  on  ;  day  followed  day,  and  week  fol- 
lowed week,  and  still  no  change  in  Lady  Ellen's 
condition.  Iler  mother  was  still  a  prisoner  in  the 
Castle  of  the  Island,  and  she  herself  was  kept  under 
a  surveillance  which,  however,  was  not  very  strict, 
owing,  probably,  to  the  heavy  security  in  which 
Florence  was  bound  for  her  appearance  when  called 
on.  The  friends  who  had  been  arrested  with  the 
bride  and  groom  were  still  in  close  confinement  with* 
m  the  prison,  but  Lady  Ellen  had  heard,  to  her  great 
contentment,  that  O'Sullivan  More,  having  given 


-I 


Tni  Fo&iUNis  OF  AN  Irish  Cuikf. 


95 


' 


himself  up  to  the  Vice-President,  was  admitted  to 
bail,  and  suffered  to  return  to  his  own  Castle  of  Dun- 
kerron. 

Lady  Ellen  and  her  attendant  were  in  the  habit  of 
walking  a  little  way  on  the  river's  banks,  enjoying 
the  freshness  of  the  summer  eve  or  mom,  and  many 
a  time  they  sat  together  on  the  edge  of  the  low  wall 
that  ran  on  either  side  the  stream,  watching  the  sun 
go  down,  and  the  moon  and  stars  shine  out  in  the  li- 
quid ether  of  the  evening  sky.  There  was  no  such 
bustle  then  as  now  by  the  water-side  in  Cork,  al- 
though the  commerce  of  the  city  was  considerable, 
for  the  population  it  then  had.  Little  of  the  rare 
beauty,  for  wliich  it  is  now  so  famous,  then  met  the 
eye,  and  the  people  that  were  seen  moving  through 
the  streets  were  as  motley  as  the  houses  on  either 
Bide.  Both  one  and  the  other  presented  the  various 
characteristics  of  the  mixed  races  by  whom  the  an- 
cient city  was  then  inhabited,  and  in  bath  these 
might  be  observed  a  strange  admixture  of  the  old 
and  new  Irish  with  the  modern  English.  Then,  as 
now,  the  British  flag  flaunted  proudly  over 

**  The  pleasant  waters  of  the  River  Lee  " 

then,  as  now,  most  of  the  nations  of  Europe  were  re- 
presented by  their  several  flags  in  Cork  waters,  but 
there  was  one  flag,  long  familiar  in  Irish  ports,  that 
was  then  no  longer  to  be  seen  in  any  of  them,  the 
grand  old  flag  of  Spain.  Many  tliere  were  on  Irish 
ground,  those  stormy  days,  who  yearned  for  the  sight 


d6 


MAcCARinT  More;  ok 


of  that  friendly  flag  again,  for,  truth  to  tell,  it  was 
then,  and  for  long  after,  the  one  hope  of  the  perse- 
cuted Catholics  of  Ireland. 

But  not  of  that  was  Lady  Ellen  thinking,  as  she  eat 
with  Una  by  the  river  after  eundon^n,  one  evening 
towards  the  end  of  August,  looking  listlessly  down 
the  stream  to  the  bridge  and  the  forts  that  then,  at 
either  end,  terminated  its  city  course.  11  er  thoughts 
were  far  away  in  the  gloomy  Castle  of  Dublin,  with 
him,  the  loved  and  lost,  to  whom  a  few  short  months 
before  she  had  joyfully  given  hand  and  vow. 

She  was  startled  from  her  sad,  though  not  unpleas- 
ing  reverie^  by  the  voice  of  a  man  asking  for  alms. 
The  lady  started,  for  the  voice  was  not  that  of  a 
common  beggar,  and  the  man,  when  she  looked  at 
him,  as  he  stood  with  hand  oi'tstretched,  had  not 
much  the  appearance  of  one  to  whom  the  mendicant's 
trade  was  familiar.  His  attire  was  that  of  an  ordin- 
ary workman  of  the  city,  and  his  thick-set,  burly 
figure,  and  coarse,  swarthy  features,  gave  little  indi- 
cation of  want.  Only  the  empty  sleeve  that  hung 
by  his  side  gave  any  plausible  excuse  for  his  having 
recourse  to  charity. 

Lady  Ellen  somehow  shrank  from  the  bold,  free 
look  which  the  stranger  fixed  upon  her.  She  motion- 
ed to  Una  to  stand  up,  as  she  did  herself,  then  told 
the  beggar  that  she  was  as  poor  as  himself,  which  she 
regretted  for  his  sake.  She  was  turning  away  in 
some  trepidation,  when  the  supposed  beggar,  follow- 
ing, and  watching  his  opportunity  till  no  one  was 


i 


TlIK   FOKTDNES   OP   AN    IlllSII    ClIIEF. 


97 


idi- 


tree 
lion- 
:old 
she 
in 
low- 
as 


near,  snid  close  to  her  car,  so  close  that  she  started 
ajid  cauu:iit  Una's  arm — 

'*  I  know  well  that  Aileen  MacCarthy  hath  no  mo- 
ney in  her  purse — poor  caged  bird  that  she  is  !  Be 
not  afraid,"  he  added,  in  a  deep,  lioarse  whisper, "  the 
same  blood  flows  in  your  veins  and  mine.  Little 
cau^e  have  1  to  love  tlic  daughter  of  Ilonora  Fitz- 
James,  but  I  wish  you  no  ill,  young  daughter  of 
MacCarthy  More !" 

**  In  the  name  of  Heaven,  who  are  vou?" 
*■  A  friend  of  yours,  but  no  friend  of  Florence  Mac- 
Donogh,'  tlie  man  answered  in  the  same  deep,  ear- 
nest whisper.  *'  Nevertheless,  I  owe  him  a  good  turn 
for  what  he  hath  done  in  regard  to  the  Brownes,  and 
seeing  you  here  this  evening,  I  thouglit  I  might  as 
well  tell  you  that  there's  one  Donald  MacCarthy  in 
these  parts  who  has  some  forty  good  swords  at  com- 
mand, ready  to  back  man,  woman,  oi*  child  against 
that  devil's  bird,  Nicholas  Browne.  Here's  people 
coming — I  must  away,  for  this  lame  arm,"  and 
chuckling,  he  pohited  significantly  to  where  the  arm 
that  ought  to  have  been  in  the  empty  sleeve,  was 
drawn  up  under  his  outer  garment,  across  his  brawny 
chest — "this  lume  arm,  and  this  English  gear  I  have 
on,  would  serve  me  little  if  some  eyes  in  Cork  got 
sight  of  my  bonny  face  ! — Charity,  good  lady,  for 
the  love  of  God  1"  he  whined  out,  in  the  professional 
drawl  of  the  begging  tribe,  as  footsteps  were  heard 
approaching.  The  passers-by  were  becoming  fewer 
and  fewer,  for  in  those  turbulent  times,  even  though 
"  No  curfow  toU'd  the  knclI  of  parliiii;  Uuy  " 


98 


MacCartuy  Mork;  or, 


the  fear  of  danger  abroad  sent  all  men  early  to  their 
homes, — if,  percjiiance,  they  had  them, — and  cleared 
the  streets  of  loiterers. 

"  Get  thee  gone,  thou  idle  varlet !"  said  a  stern 
voice  in  English,  "thy  hypocritical  whining  shall 
nought  avail  thee  here.  Get  thee  hence,  I  say,  or  I 
will  have  thee  put  where  such  knaves  ought  to  be." 

"  Good  Master  Tom  kins,  be  not  so  hard  on  a  poor 
fellow !"  said  the  supposed  beggar,  "  an'  you  wanted 
your  supper  yourself,  you  would,  perchance,  whine 
somewhat  as  I  do.  Sufler  your  fair  daughter  to  give 
some  alms  to  a  poor  fellow  who  hath  lost  an  arm  ?" 

"  The  lady  is  no  daughter  of  mine  ;"  said  the  burly 
Englishman,  "  but  be  she  who  she  may,  it  nothuig 
concerns  you.  Begone,  I  say,  an'  you  would  not 
have  me  call  the  watch  !" 

"  Thanks,  good  sir  I"  said  the  sturdy  beggar,  in  a 
tone  of  grim  mockery..  "  May  God  reward  you  ac- 
cording to  your  deserts !" — So  saying,  he  turned  a 
corner  and  was  lost  to  sight. 

"  Mistress  Ellen  !'^  said  the  Englishman,  who  was 
no  other  than  the  merchant  to  whose  safe  keeping 
she  was  entrusted,  "  I  marvel  much  to  find  you 
abroad  in  the  streets  so  long  after  sundown.  See 
that  you  keep  more  in-doors  hereafter,  and  avoid 
parleymg  with  such  graceless  varlcts  as  yonder  beg- 
gar, whom  I  hold  to  be  no  safe  company  !  Pray 
thee,  fair  mistress,  hasten  thy  steps;  an'  thou  art 
seen  out  of  doors  at  this  unseemly  hour,  my  damo 
and  I  may  be  brought  to  account."    . 


Tub  Fortl^nrs  op  an  Irish  Ciiibf. 


99 


L  a 


'JIS 


i 


For  several  weeks  after  tliis  rencontre,  Lady  Ellen 
discontinued  her  evenin<jf  walks.  Master  TomkinB 
and  hh  dame  grew  easy  in  their  minds  on  the  score 
of  being  compromised,  lor  their  young  charge  ap- 
peared, herself  to  shrink  from  being  seen  abroad,  es- 
pecially at  "  unseemly  liours."  She  seemed,  in  fact, 
to  have  lost  all  desire  for  going  out,  and  sat  all  day 
long  either  playing  doleful  airs  on  the  ancient 
spinnet  before  mentioned,  or  musing  silently  by  the 
window  that  looked  on  the  open  country  beyond  the 
walls.  Even  to  Una,  she  spoke  little,  whereat  the 
damsel  much  wondered,  for  Lady  Ellen  was,  by  na- 
ture, neither  silent  nor  reserved,  liespect  forbade 
Una  to  question  her  young  mistress,  and  so  she  was 
fain  to  await  in  silence  the  moment  when  she  herself 
would  explain  the  change  in  her  demeanor. 

This  had  gone  on  for  some  weeks,  when  one  day  Lady 
Ellen  was  sent  for  by  Mistress  Tomkins,  to  inspect 
the  wares  which  a  travelling  pedlar  offered,  for  sale. 

"An'  you  wish  to  buy  some  of  this  good  man's 
wares.  Lady  Ellen?"  said  the  motherly  liostess.  "I 
will  pay  for  whatsoever  you  may  choose." 

Lady  Ellen  declined  making  any  purchase,  casting 
her  eyes  somewhat  disdainfully  over  the  contents  of 
the  pack,  which  were,  indeed,  of  the  cheapest  and 
commonest  kind,  little  tempting  to  the  eye  of  the 
Earl  £  daughter. 

'*  Won't  you  help  a  poor  man,  your  ladyship  ?" 
said  the  pedlar  in  very  bad  English ;  *'  herself  has  a 
wife  and  four  little  ones  in  Carbery  beyond." 


100 


MacCartiiy  More;  or, 


Tlie  word  Carbery  struck  Lady  Ellen's  car,  as  it 
was  meant  to  do.  The  })edlar  had  managed  to  get 
between  her  and  Mistress  Tonikins,  and  when,  with 
a  start,  she  raised  her  eyes  to  his  face,  he  gave  a  sig- 
nificant look,  and  made  a  sign  for  her  to  buy  some- 
thing. With  a  show  of  indift'erence  she  made  some 
trifling  purchase,  and  the  merchant's  wife  having 
left  the  room  to  procure  the  money  to  pay  for  it,  the 
pretended  pedlar  slipped  a  letter  into  the  young 
lady's  liand,  saying  in  Irish  in  a  low  whisper: — 
"  I'm  from  Carbery — I  would  give  my  life  to  serve 
Ais  wife  and  html  I'll  be  at  the  Martin  Gate  to- 
morrow evening.  ]3eware  of  Donald,  if  you  meet 
him.     I  hear  he  had  speech  of  you." 

A  sign  from  Ellen  warned  the  honest  Carberyman 
of  the  approach  of  Mistress  Tomkins,  and  he  was 
again  bending  over  his  wares,  busily  engaged  in 
arranging  tlicm  in  his  pack.  Very  fervent  were  his 
thanks  and  blessings  in  his  broken  English  to  ''  the 
good  ladies,"  who  had  bought  something  to  "  help 
the  poor  man  with  his  wife  and  four  little  children.'* 

In  a  state  of  feverish  agitation,  Lady  Ellen  sought 
the  privacy  of  her  own  chamber,  and  hrving  secured 
the  door  so  as  to  prevent  intrusion,  tore  open  the 
precious  letter  which  her  heart  told  her  was  from 
her  husband,  and  eagerly  glancing  at  the  contents, 
her  cheek  grew  red,  then  ashy  pale;  her  head  sank 
on  her  hand,  and  the  tears  trickled  through  her 
taper  fingers. 

*•  Alas!"  she  murmured,  "I  hoped  for  good  tid- 


1 


- 


Tub  Fobtunbs  of  an  Iriau  Cuief. 


101 


i 


ings,  and  none  have  I  got.  Sad  licart,  be  still !  joy 
is  yet  fur,  Car  distant !" — Long  she  remained  in  that 
attitude  of  liopeless  dejection,  but  at  length  she 
raised  her  head,  shook  back  the  raven  locks  that  had 
fallen  over  her  face,  and  drying  her  tears,  said  hal 
aloud, — "  Even  that  may  be  better  than  this.  Be  it 
as  it  may,  it  is  his  will,  and  I  will  do  it  joyfully, 
come  what  may  1" 

Calling  to  her  Una,  whp,  from  the  farther  end  of 
tlie  room,  had  witnessed  this  scene  in  mute  surprise, 
she  told  her  with  a  wan  smile,  in  a  low,  cautious 
whisper,  that  the  pedlar  had  proved  to  be  a  faith- 
ful follower  of  Florence  ]MacCarthy,  sent  by  him 
all  the  way  from  Dublin  with  that  letter  to  her, 
and  for  a  further  purpose  which  she  went  on  to 
tell  her,  lowering  her  voice  still  more  as  she  did 
•  so. 

"Thank  God!"  was  Una's  fervent  exclamation. 
"Even  that  is  soraethini]:.'* 

A  warning  gesture  from  lier  mistress  sealed  her 
lips,  as  a  tap  at  the  door,  and  the  voice  of  Mistress 
Tomkins  were  heard  together,  announcing  the  raid- 
day  meal.  While  Una  went  leisurely  to  open  the 
door,  Lady  Ellen  had  ample  time  to  secrete  the  so 
highly-prized  letter. 

Mistress  Tomkins  had  news  for  Lady  Ellen  ;  her 
father  had  returned  from  England,  and  had  sent  to 
Sir  Warham  St.  Letter  to  ask  if  his  dauijhter,  beinir 
under  age,  might  be  restored  to  his  keeping,  on  his 
own  security. 


102 


MacCaathy  Mouk;  or, 


**What  saitl  Sir  Warham?"  asked   Lady    Ellen 
anxiously. 

•'That  I  know  not,  but  T  have  heard  say  that  the 
Earl  hath  a  mind  to  break  your  marriage  for  the 
Queen's  contentment  and  his  own.  My  good  master 
deeineth  it  not  unlikely  that  you  will  be  given  back 
to  your  father  that  so  a  divorce  may  be  obtained." 

What  Lady  Ellen  said  on  hearing  this  is  of  small 
account.  What  she  thought  was  :  "  Florence  must 
have  heaixl  of  this.  Strange  that,  behig  m  prison,  he 
can  yet  watch  over  and  care  for  liis  .j)oor,  lonely 
wife  !"  Very  much  the  same  conclusion  she  came  to 
as  her  father  had  done  in  London  months  before,  viz., 
that  Florence  MacCarthy  "  liad  a  long  head,"  and 
w^as  wise  beyond  his  years.  It  may  be,  however, 
that  neither  Lady  Ellen  nor  her  keen-witted  husband 
fully  understood  the  ]>ur])Ose  that  lay  hidden  far 
do"wm  in  the  heart  of  the  Earl  of  Clancarthy,  rough 
and  reckless  as  lie  seemed.  It  never  occurred  to 
Lady  Ellen,  though  her  husband's  more  astute  mind 
miffht  have  guessed,  that,  in  seeking  to  recover  his 
daughter  from  the  custody  of  Engx!  h  officials,  the 
Earl  did  but  shew  the  natural  anxiety  of  a  father  to 
have  his  youno;  dauohter  aj:ain  under  the  shelter  of 
his  own  roof,  until  such  time  as  her  husband  was  re- 
leased from  prison, — that  his  ulterior  views  m  regard 
to  the  divorce  might  he  only  insinuated  in  order  to 
throw  St.  Leger  and  Norreys  off  their  guard. 

"  Alas !  alas  !"   sighed   the   young   wife.     "  Who 
would  be  bom  an  Earl's  daughter  in  this  poor  land, 


i 


TUK   FOKTUNKS   OF    *~    IlUSIl    CuiBF. 


103 


i 


\  . 


these  black  and  sorrowful  days !  Oh !  that  my 
poor  brother  were  but  living,  then  should  I  be  free 
to  marry  wliom  I  would !" 

"  Pri'  thee  be  not  Ciist  down,  sweet  lady  I"  quoth 
Mistress  Tonikins,  her  comely  lace  beaming  with  kind 
womanly  sympathy.  ''  AVlien  TondJns  and  1  came 
together  first  we  had  hard  time,^.  for  many  a  long 
day, — ay  1  marry  had  we,  for  he  w.  but  a  serving- 
man  in  our  house,  and  my  father  v.as  a  chief  man  in 
the  Glovers'  Guild  v\  fair  Loi  'on  city  idy  father 
wrs  a  hard  man,  and  he  was  main  r.ri-ry  at  first,  aDd 
Bwore  he'd  have  Giles  Tomkius  'Uiipi  yd  to  the  Weat 
em  Indies.  He  took  me  away  from  him,  too,  but 
after  a  month  or  two,  when  he  saw  tiiat  I  did  noth- 
ing but  cry  all  day  long,  he  sent  for  Tomkins,  and 
told  him  to  take  his  wife  and  go  iiis  ways.  lie  never 
troubled  us  after,  and  in  time  himself  and  Tomkins 
became  the  best  of  friends.  So  cheer  thee  up,  sweet 
Mistress,  things  may  e'en  turn  out  witli  you  and 
your  winsome  spouse  as  they  did  with  Giles  Tom- 
kins and  myself." 

This  homely  attempt  at  consolation  was  not 
■without  its  effect  on  Lady  Ellen,  who  could  not  help 
emilinGf  at  the  thou^dit  of  "  the  chief  man  of  the 
Glovers'  Guild"  waxing  so  wroth  over  the  alliance 
of  honest  Giles  Tomkuis.  She  was  amused  at  the 
good  w^oman'^s  evident  su))  posit  ion  that  the  Earl  of 
Claucarthy  considered  his  new  son-in-law  as  unworthy 
of  that  hoQor,  as  the  honest  glover  of  "  fair  London 
city"  did  his  tormer  serving  man.     She  was  tempted 


104 


MacCautiiy  More;  or, 


to  explain  to  Mistress  Tonikins  that  her  husband 
was  fully  her  equal  in  nobility  of  birth,  and  if  not 
her  equal  in  wealth,  so  nearly  so  that  her  father  was 
well  content  with  her  choice,  which  was,  in<leeJ,  his 
own;  that,  in  sliort,  it  was  only  the  Queen,  her  Irish 
oflicials,  and  the  undertakers  generally,  who  oltjected 
to  the  match,  because  it  eudan<>-ered  their  reversional 
"rights."  Inexperienced  as  she  was,  however,  and 
by  no  means  remarkable  for  precocious  prudence  or 
sagacity,  the  young  lady  repressed  the  desire  so  nat- 
ural to  one  in  her  position,  and  wisely  k(.'pt  the 
secret,  which  known,  might  and  would  have  seriously 
compromised  her  father,  and  drawn  down  still 
heavier  displeasure  on  her  husband. 

The  following'  eveninix,  one  of  the  loveliest  of  late 
September,  Lady  Ellen  e\'])ressed  her  vish  to  walk 
abroad  with  Una,  to  which  ^Mistress  Tomkins  will- 
ingly acceded,  observing  that  she  looked  somewhat 
pale,  and  that  a  walk  in  the  fresh  air  miglit  do  her 
good.  Tears  came  hito  the  young  lady's  eyes ; 
words  were  on  her  lips  that  she  might  not  speak,  so 
drawing  her  hood  over  her  face,  and  nodding  kindly 
to  the  good-natured  helpmate  of  Giles  Tond^ins,  she 
left  the  house,  followed  by  Una,  and  walked  with  the 
buoyant  step  of  youth  along  the  narrow  streets  of 
the  old  city,  taking  the  direction  of  the  Martin  Gate. 
The  sun  had  not  yet  reached  the  horizon,  and  his 
rich  autumnal  rays  fell  slant-wise  over  the  rows  of 
quaint  old  buildings  on  either  side,  penetrating  only 
at  intervals,  where  the  houses  were  lower,  to   the 


I 


It 


Thr  Foktunks  op  an  Imsn  Cihep. 


105 


rugged  pavement  below,  which  they  gilt  as  gor- 
geously as  thougli  it  were  a  pahice  floor  of  polished 
marble.  The  greater  part  of  the  streets  lay  wra})t 
in  the  shade  of  the  tall  steep-roofed  houses  as  Lady 
Ellen  MaeCarthy  and  her  faithful  attendant  tripju'd 
liglitly  along,  little  heeded  by  the  passers-])y.  The 
business  of  the  day  was  over,  but  the  streets  were 
still  alive  with  the  citizens,  taking  the  air  with  their 
wivx'S,  and  daughters,  and  "  sweethearts." 

Down  Castle  street  Lady  Ellen  and  L^na  went,  the 
young  lady's  anxious  glance  full  often  fixed  on  the 
massive  walls  of  the  Kinuf's  Castle  which  closed  the 
vista  at  the  end  of  the  street.  There,  she  knew,  was 
an  EnL]:lish  warder  on  the  battlements,  and  an  Eiilt- 
lish  sentinel  pacing  to  and  fro  in  front  of  the  gates. 
But  the  Castle  was  passed,  and  the  warder,  whose 
attention  was  turned  to  the  open  country,  rather  than 
the  streets  of  the  city,  and  the  sentry,  who  scarce 
interrupteil  the  martiid  strain  he  was  humming  to 
look  at  the  two  hooded  figures  that  glided  past  liim, 
undistinguishable  in  the  crowd  of  Cork  ladies  simi- 
larly attired,  who  were  walking  (.0  and  fro,  engaged 
in  animated  conversation.  Through  the  lofty  arch  of 
the  Martin  Gate  tlio  two  figures  passe^l,  by  the  .vi  le 
open  portal  of  the  strong  Castle  that  defended  ilio 
entrance  on  tlie  outer  side,  and,  unchallenged  by 
warder  or  by  sentinel,  reached  the  oj^cn  couniry. 
Little  thougnt  the  whistling  sentry  at  the  Casih- 
gate  that  the  taller  of  the  two  light-footed  dam-t-is 
who  tripped  past  liini  that  evening  at  sundown,  the  r 


106 


MacCarthy  More;  or, 


faces  half  hidden  in  tlie  deep  hoods  then  worn  by 
women  of  hiijfh  and  low  degree,  was  the  miich-talked- 
of  heiress  of  llie  great  Earl  of  Clancarthy,  for  whose 
apprehension,  a  week  later,  he  niiglio  have  some  fifty 
marks  of  gold,  or  mayhap  a  grant  of  land  that  wonld 
make  his  fortune,  and  his  children's  after  him.  So 
in  happy  (but  not  profitable)  nnconsciousness  he 
let  slip  the  golden  opportunity  of  fou!iding  "  a  new 
family"  in  Cork  or  Kerry,  on  the  forfeited  lands  of 
some  Irish  Chieftain. 

Standing  in  the  field  v/ithout,  in  the  shade  of  the 
high  town  wall,  Lady  Ellen  looked  around,  half 
fri listened  at  her  own  boldness  in  venturing  so  far. 

"  Pray  heaven  that  wliat  I  have  done  be  for  good  !" 
she  whispered  low  to  Una.  "  An'  he  should  fail  us 
now,  all  were  lost!  Back  it  were  not  safe  to  go,  for 
so  many  watchful  eyes  there  be,  that  our  flight  may 
be  even  now  discovered." 

"  Nay,  dear  lady,  be  not  so  fearful,"  said  Una,  in 
the  same  low  tone ;  "  an'  the  man  were  truly  your  hus- 
band's messenger,  it  is  little  likely  tliat  he  will  leave 
you  in  such  a  strait  as  this.  If  it  please  you,  let  us 
walk  on ;  it  were  unwise  to  stand  still  so  near  the  gate." 

They  walked  on  at  random  a  little  way  in  the  di- 
rection of  the  Iieights,  Lady  Ellen  becoming  more 
and  more  anxious  every  moment;  they  had  reached 
an  angle  of  the  walls,  and  there  stopped  short,  fear- 
ful to  venture  further,  when  a  voice  behind  them 
said  in  Irish—"  Is  the  colleen  dhu  taking  a  bit  of  a 
walk  this  fine  evenins:  ?" 


«■ 


mm 


■Jimu 


7Tm 


The  Fortunes  op  an  Irish  Chibp. 


107 


Turning  quickly,  Lady  Ellen  beheld  her  friend, 
the  pedlar,  pedlar  now  no  longer,  but  arrayed  in  the 
ordinary  garb  of  a  Cork  townsman  of  the  lower 
classes.  With  an  admonitory  gesture,  the  quick- 
witted Carbery  man  went  on  in  the  same  careless 
lone,  meant  for  the  ears  of  the  passers  by  : 

"It  isn't  afraid  of  the  red  soldiers  you'd  be, 
Kathleen  astore,  to  be  strolling  out  here,  you  and 
Maura,  by  yourselves !" 

"  Afraid !"  said  Lady  Ellen  in  the  same  language, 
takingthe  cue  from  the  Carbey  man,"  what  for  would 
I  be  afraid  ?    The  red  soldiers  never  did  harm  to  me." 

"May  be  it's  going  to  see  your  grandmother  you 
are  up  Kenmare  side." 

"You've  a  good  guess;  that's  just  where  we're 
bound  for." 

"  Then  I'll  be  part  of  the  way  with  you,  but  you 
cannot  be  back  to-night." 

"  Not  before  the  gates  are  closed.  My  mother 
said  we  might  stay  over  night." 

Talking  'thus  in  a  careless  way  the  three  walked 
on,  little  heeded  by  any  one  they  met.  All  at  once 
a  horseman  dashed  past  them,  followed  by  one  or 
two  others.  Lady  Ellen  did  not  venture  to  raise  her 
eyes,  and  the  guide  himself  grew  suddenly  silent. 

When  the  sound  of  tlie  norses'  feet  grew  faint  in 
the  distance,  Bryan  na  Carda  (for  so  Florence's  mes- 
senger was  named)  burst  into  a  loud  laugh.  "Does 
your  ladyship  know  who  that  was  that  passed  but 
now  ?" 


I 


. 


Ju. 


108 


MacCarthy  Mour;  ok, 


"  Nay,  how  Bhould  I  know  ?  I  looked  not  from 
under  my  liood." 

"That  wasNicliolas  Browne,  wlio  would  fuhi  have 
been  your  ladyship's  husband.  I  warrant  me  he  is 
riding  in  hot  Iiaste  to  Cork  to  lodge  a  complaint 
agains'i  that  dare-devil,  Donald  MacCarthy,  for  some 
new  pnaiks  he  has  been  playing ;  some  of  his  horses 
houghed,  or  his  cows  killed,  or  may  be  some  of  his 
Englishmen  sent  to  the  other  world.  Donald  is  a 
great  hand  at  playing  such  tricks — especially  on  the 
Brownes,  as  your  ladyship  can't  but  know." 

"  Thank  God  he  did  not  see  me  !"  ejaculated  Lady 
Ellen,  her  mind  full  of  the  threatened  divorce. 

"  Nay,  he  hath  given  up  hope  of  your  ladyship 
now,"  said  Bryan.  "  Heard  you  not  that  he  hath 
married  the  daughter  of  O'SuUivan  Beare  ?" 

"  What,  Eveleen,  whom  her  father  would  fain  have 
Florence  marry  ?"  asked  Lady  Ellen  eagerly. 

*'  The  same.  Master  Nicholas,  hearing  that  O'Sul- 
livan  and  his  daughter  deemed  themselves  slighted 
in  that  matter,  offered  to  marrj'-  the  lady  himself, 
hoping  thereby  to  get  some  back*  amongst  the  Lish. 
So  the  match  was  made,  and  the  couj)le  married,  and 
now  the  Brownes  and  O'SuUivan  Beare's  people  are 
pulling  together  against  MacCarthy  More  and  my 
master, — bent  on  doing  all  the  harm  they  can." 

"Strange  tidings  these!"  said  Lady  Ellen,  "  and 
yet  I  am  well  pleased  that  Browne  hath  taken  a 
wife.     Since  Eveleen  O'SuUivan  married  the  geiit!e- 

*  Bnck  in  Irish  phrasoology,  used  in  thia  Bonse,  means  stqrport. 


fli 


1 


Tub  Fortunes  op  an  Iiusu  Chief. 


109 


wi\.in  for  spite,  I  need  have  no  pity  for  her.  But 
whillier  are  we  going  ?"  slie  asked,  seeing  that  tliey 
had  now  lost  siglit  of  Cork,  and  were  going  farther 
and  fartlier  from  the  river,  hack  into  tlie  country. 

"  To  a  place  of  safety,"  was  Bryan'*  curt,  hut  re- 
spectful answer.  "  I  fear  your  kidysLip  is  tired,  but 
there  are  horses  waiting  for  us  a  little  farther  on." 

On  the  little  party  trudged,  through  the  increasing 
darkness ;  the  road  became  wild  and  lonely,  and  lit- 
tle Una  keeping  closer  to  the  side  of  her  mistress, 
wliispered  her  fears  that,  afr.er  all,  they  might  have 
fallen  into  evil  hands. 

"  Hush !"  said   her  mistress,  "  be  not  afraid.     I 
will  end  well,  I  doubt  not." 

Just  then,  from  out  a  clump  of  trees,  came  a  voice 
asking,  in  Irish,  "  Is  that  you,  Bryan  naCarda?" 
Bryan's  answer  brought  out  from  amongst  the  trees 
three  Kerry  ponies,  and  two  men  who  had  had  them 
m  charge.  Lady  Ellen  and  her  shrinking  attendant 
were  placed  on  two  of  the  ponies,  Bryant  mounted 
the  third,  and  with  a  kindly  "  God  speed  you,  Lady 
Ellen  of  Clan  Caura  !"  from  the  men  behind — which 
familiar  words  set  poor  Una's  mind  at  ease,  the  little 
party  rode  on  in  silence,  their  way  lit  only  by  the 
fitars  of  heaven,  Bryan  riding  in  front  as  guide. 

"  Now,  then,"  said  he  aloud,  "  a  iig  for  Norreys, 
and  St.  Leger,  and  the  Brownes  to  boot  !"# 

On,  on  they  rode  through  the  silent  night,  their 
destination  a  secret  to  the  young  wife  of  Bryan's 


no 


MacCartuy  Morr;  or, 


master,  who,  nevertheless,  took  some  pleasure  in 
thinkmg  that  she  owed  her  newly-recovered  freedom 
to  her  husband,  whose  loving  care  still  watched  over 
her. 


^ 


Thk  Fobtdmis  or  am  Irisb  Chixf, 


111 


^ 


ii 


CHAPTER  VIL 

During  his  imprisonment  in  Cork,  Florence  Mao 
Cartliy  had  had  several  interviews  with  the  Vice- 
President  ofMunster.  At  lirst,  Norreys,  still  smart- 
ing under  the  hiiniiliation  of  the  clever  trick  played 
upon  him,  indignantly  refused ;  it  occurred  to  him, 
however,  that  by  speaking  with  Florence  he  might 
possibly  glean  some  information  that  would  furnish 
an  item  for  his  next  dispatch  to  London,  so  ho 
changed  his  mind,  and  gave  orders  for  "  Mr.  Flor- 
ence MacCartie"  to  be  admitted  to  bis  presence. 

"  My  service  to  you,  Sir  Thomas  !"said  the  gentle- 
man of  the  MacCarlhys,  with  a  courteous  bow  and 
a  bland  smile. 

Service  me  no  service !"  said  Norreys  testily, 
"  what  would  you  of  me  ?" 

"  Nought  at  the  present  time.  Sir  Thomas,  savmg 
this,  that  I  would  fain  tell  you  how  it  was  that  mat- 
ters fell  out  as  they  did  after  I  went  into  Desmond 
with  your  Honor's  permission." 

**  My  permission ! — a  pretty  use  you  made  of  it  I 
Truly,  I  would  sooner  have  cut  off  my  right  arm  had 
I  but  known  your  traitorous  design." 

MacCarthy  bit  his  lip,  and  a  deeper  glow  mantled 
his  cheek,  but  his  voice  was  as  calm  as  usual,  and  his 
features  as  composed,  when  he  replied,  with  a  smile, 
"Traitorous  design  had  I  none,  be  well  assured,  Sir 
Thomas  !  in  going  to  Desmond.'* 


;  i 


112 


MacCartiiy  ]\[orr;  or, 


"  Now,  by  mine  lionor,"  said  Xorrcys,  vohcmcnt* 
ly,  "  tliis  exceedeih  all  belief.  What  of  the  mort- 
gages you  talked  of?  \yhat  of  the  EarPs  broken 
promises,  ;uid  ail  tiie  other  complaints  you  lodged 
against  him  ?  Wliat  of  the  promise  you  said  you 
were  under  to  marry  the  daughter  of  O^Sullivan 
Beare  ?" 

"As  for  tlic  mortgages,  Sir  Thomas,"  said  Flor- 
ence, smiling,  "  I  held  them  then,  and  do  hold  them 
still.  Tiiat  I  did  not  make  good  m}-  claims  to  the 
mortgaged  lands  at  that  time  is  easily  accounted  lor. 
Few  days  had  I  passed  in  Pallice  Castls  when  the 
mortgages  and  O'Sulllvan's  daughter  were  forgotten, 
and  the  only  thing  I  cared  to  remember  was  that  the 
Earl  had  promised  his  daughter  to  me  in  marriage, 
and  that  if  I  could  win  so  fair  a  prize,  I  had  a  better 
right  to  her  than  Nicholas  Browne." 

"Knew  you  not  that  the  Queen  had  her  word  to 
say  in  a  matter  of  such  moment?  that  the  Earl  him- 
self, even  though  you  had  his  consent,  had  no  power 
to  give  his  daughter  and  heiress  hi  marriage  without 
her  Majesty's  sanction  ?" 

"  Nay,  truth  to  tell,  I  thought  not  of  it,"  said 
MacCarthy,  with  a  look  of  candor  in  his  face  that 
might  have  deceived  sharper  eyes  than  those  of 
blunt,  honest  Norreys ;  "  I  need  not  tell  a  gallant 
knight  like  Sir  Thomas  Norreys,  that  wiser  heads 
than  mine  have  been  turned  ere  now  by 
bright  eyes  and  fair  faces.  One  moonlight 
night    on    the     Lake,    with    the     Countess     and 


A 


TiiK  Fortunes  op  an  Irisu  Chirp. 


113 


^ 


her  lovely  daiigliter,  sent  Avisdoin  to  tliQ 
■winds.  That  is  the  pliiin  trnth,  Sir  Thomas  I — 
As  lor  the  Queen's  hiyhncss,  liow  was  I  to  know  that 
my  gracious  hidy,  whom  I  liad  served,  and  my  father 
belbrc  me,  wouhl  withhold  her  consent  to  my  marry- 
ing the  lady  of  my  choice  ?" 

"  But  when  the  lady  of  your  choice  was  the  Earl 
of  Clancarthy's  heiress  V" 

"  Nay,  had  she  been  the  daughter  of  one  of  mine 
own  vassals,  it  were  all  the  same  to  me." 

•'  But  not  to  the  Queen." 

•*So  1  find  to  my  heavy  sorrow.  My  chief  trouble 
in  this  matter  is  that  I  have  fallen  under  her  Majes- 
ty's dispkasure,  whereas  I  dreamed  not  of  any  such 
result  from  this  love-fully  of  mine.  The  Earl's  anger 
we,  all  of  us,  dreaded,  but  the  Queen's  no  one 
thought  of.  I  Avould  that  Ellen  had  been  the  daugh- 
ter of  some  gentleman  of  no  account,  then  might  I 
have  wooed  and  wed  her  without  giving  oftence  to  my 
gracious  Queen  !" 

"  Or  O'Sullivau  and  his  daughter  !"  said  Norreys, 
pointedly. 

"  Xay,  as  regards  them,  they  may  be  as  angry  as 
they  will.  The  lady  hath  souglit  consolation  in  the 
arms  of  Nicholas  Browne,  and  her  father  may  e'en 
let  his  WTath  cool  as  it  heated.  I  never  had  heart  or 
eye  in  his  daughter,  for  all  he  would  fain  have  made 
the  match." 

Thus  ended  the  first  interview  between  the  Vice- 
President  and  the  Earl  of  Clancarthy's  politic  son- 


IWMM 


114 


MaoCabthy  More;  or, 


) 


in-law.  The  impression  made  on  the  mind  of  Nor* 
reys  was,  on  the  whole,  favorable ;  he  began  to 
think  that,  after  all,  Florence  MacCarthy  was  not  so 
much  to  blame ;  it  really  did  seem  that  he  had  of- 
fended not  so  much  from  malice  as  from  ignorance, 
and  he  was  undoubtedly  a  fair-sjioken,  courteous 
gentleman.  As  regarded  his  going  into  Desmond,  ii 
matters  were  as  he  represented  them,  he  was  no  wise 
to  blame ;  he  might  have  gone,  as  lie  said,  to  look 
after  his  mortgages,  without  any  thoughts  of  mar- 
riage ;  and  then  he  had  ever  been  of  well-assured 
loyalty  and  of  dutiful  demeanor  towards  the  Queen's 
highness. 

So  much  for  the  effect  of  the  first  conference  ;  an- 
other and  another  followed,  each  one  raising  Florence 
in  the  good  opinion  of  Sir  Thomas.  Without  soli- 
citing any  favor  for  himself  or  others,  the  wily  chief- 
tain had,  in  his  smooth,  insinuating  way,  talked  the 
Vice-President  into  the  conviction  that  the  marriage 
was  wholly  unpremeditated  on  his  part,  a  pure  affair 
of  "  love  at  first  sight,'*  and  that  none  of  the  parties 
concerned  had  been  aware  that  the  act  was  treason- 
able and  offensive  to  the  Queen  ! 

Having  reached  tliis  conclusion,  Sir  Thomas  Nor- 
reys,  good  man  !  sat  him  down  and  wrote  a  letter  to 
Sir  Francis  Walsinghara,  the  Queen's  Chief  Secre- 
tary, in  behalf  of  Florence  MacCarthy  !  In  this  re- 
markable document,  the  so  lately  exasperated  offi- 
cial recommends  "  Mr.  Florence  MacCartie"  to  "  his 
honor's  good  favor,"  "as  well  by  reason  of  the  good 


# 


i 


) 


TUE   FORTUNRS   OF    AN   IrISU    CiIIRF. 


115 


* 


demeanor  and  carriage  of  liiinsclf,"  as  also  that  sev- 
eral times  since  iiis  coulincment,  having  conl'crenccs 
wilh  him,  he  "  found  him  very  penitent  for  his  fault 
so  oftensive  to  her  Majesty,  protesting  tliat  the  igno- 
rance o[  her  highness'  i)leasure,  and  no  ill-meanincr 
in  hiinhiell  was  the  cause  of  his  error,"* 

Befrre  ihis  letter  reached  Walsinijham,  Florence 
MacCarthy  had  been  removed  to  Dublin.  There  some 
anxicas,  tedious  weeks  passed  over  his  head.  Sepa- 
rated from  the  young  wife  who,  a  few  short  months 
before,  he  had  wedded  in  the  mysterious  and  roman- 
tic solitude  of  the  old  abbey  of  the  MacCarthys,  by 
the  Lake  shore  ;  with  the  love  of  a  Celtic  heart  burn- 
ing within  him  in  its  first  fervor,  and  the  thought  of 
bis  fair  and  youthful  bride,  torn  from  her  mother's 
side,  exposed  to  dangers,  and  trials,  and  humilia- 
tions, from  none  of  which  he  could  shield  her, — this 
was,  indeed,  misery, — this  alone  would  have  made 
imprisonment  mtolerable  to  most  nwjn  of  his  race. 
But,  however  much  Florence  MacCarthy  might  have 
loved  the  fair  lady  he  had  wooed  and  won,  there  was 
another  passion  that  divided  with  love  the  empire  of 
his  heart,  and  filled  his  mind  with  dreams  and  hopes 
in  which  love  had  no  share.  Ambition,  perhaps, 
even  more  than  love,  tilled  his  heart,  and  guided  all 
his  movements.  Religion  was  not  forgotten  in  his 
aspirations,  but  it  did  not  occupy  that  first  place  in 
his  heart   and  hopes  which  it  did  in  those  of  other 


*  State  Papers,  as  quoted  in  the  "  Life  and  Letters   of 
Florence  MacCarlhy  More,"  by  Daniel  MacCarthy.— p.  48. 


116 


MaoCarthy  More;  or, 


Irish  chieftains  of  his  day, — he  well  loved  the  an- 
cient faith,  and  much  desired  its  exaltation,  but  it 
was  not  the  guiding  star  of  his  tliouglits  and  plans. 

For  several  days  he  had  been  hi  a  state  of  even 
unusual  anxiety.  Calm  and  self-possessed  as  he  al- 
ways was,  he  could  with  dilliculty  maintain  his  com- 
posure when  in  the  prestmcc  of  any  of  the  oliicials 
who  kept  watch  and  ward  over  him.  His  imprison- 
ment, owing  to  the  favorable  impression  he  had  made 
on  Norreys,  was  latterly  little  more  than  nominal, 
and,  learnhig  that  Sir  Thomas  had  written  to  Lt)ndou 
on  his  behalf,  he  had  even  begun  to  hope  for  his  lib- 
eration. 

One  rich,  autumnal  day,  when  the  mellow  sun  was 
shmmg  through  the  bars  of  MacCarthy's  prison, 
and  the  sky  was  calm  and  blue,  and  the  winds  were 
asleep  in  their  ocean  cradle,  word  was  brought  to 
Florence  that  he  was  to  be  removed  to  the  Tower  of 
London  without  delay. 

For  a  moment  the  ruddy  check  of  youth  grew 
pale,  and  the  lamp  of  hope  burned  dimly  within 
Florence's  heart  ;  it  was  but  a  moment,  and  he  was 
himself  again, — the  warm  glow  niantled  on  his  cheek, 
and  his  dark  eyes  gleamed  with  unwonted  light, 
while  low  he  murmured  to  himself — "Thank  God  I 
Bryan  has  succeeded."  He  did  not  ask  for  any  ex- 
planation of  the  new  mandate,  but  he  was  not  long 
left  in  doubt  on  the  subject. 

Previous  to  his  departure  from  Dublin  he  was 
brought  before  the  Lord  Deputy  and  the  Council, 


TlIR   FORTUNKS    OF    AN    IllISII    ClIIBP. 


117 


ew 

ill 

as 

|ek, 

[ht, 

.dl 

X- 

.iig 

as 
Icil, 


and  Uicre  questioned  on  tlie  flii^lit  of  the  Lady  Ellen 
IMacCarthy,  his  wife,  tVoni  Cork. 

His  suqirise  was  great,  or  so  it  seemed  ;  but  it  was 
not  so  great  as  tliat  of  tiie  grave  fuiiclionaries  beforo 
wliom  he  stood,  wlien  lie  said,  in  a  dolei'ul  tone,  and 
with  all  nppearance  of  sineerity — "  The  silly  damsel 
will  be  my  ruin.  She  knew  full  well  that  I  was 
bo'ind  under  a  heavy  penalty  for  her  appearance  on 
dt.  land  before  the  \'iec-President !  Your  lordships 
may  send  me  to  the  Tower,  or  where  you  will,  I  am 
a  ruined  man.  Four  hundred  pounds  I  cannot  pay, 
though  I  were  sold  horse  and  foot !  Woe  is  me  that 
mine  own  wife  should  be  niv  undoinix !" 

"  It  is  conunonly  reported,"  said  the  Lord  Deputy 
sternly,  "  that  this  thing  hath  not  been  done  without 
your  knowledge.  An'  it  be  so,  you  will  have  cause 
to  rue  it." 

"  I  have  cause  enough  to  rue  wliat  hath  been  done,' 
said  Florence,  dejectedly  ;  •'  but  for  this  ill-advised 
step  of  my  wife's,  I  had,  doubtless,  been  a  free  man 
before  long,  as  Sir  Thomas  gave  me  some  reason  to 
hope." 

There  was  some  show  of  reason  in  this  plausible 
remark,  as  the  lords  could  not  but  see,  so  after  a 
whispered  consultation  among  themselves,  during 
which  MacCarthy  stood  before  them  with  a  look  of 
well-feigned  anxiety  on  his  handsome  features, — they 
came  to  the  sage  conclusion  that  nothing  could  be 
drawn  from  him,  and  that  further  examination  must 
be  left  to  the  English  Privy  Council,  or  the  Queen 


lis 


MacCartiiy  Mokk;  or, 


herself.  Intently  engaged  in  tlieir  discussion  of  the 
matter,  they  paid  no  attention  to  the  prisoner's  looks, 
otherwise  they  miglit,  possibly,  have  arrived  at  an- 
other conclusion,  to  the  effect  that  the  "p:entlenian 
of  the  MacCarthys"  was  anuising  himself  at  their 
expense.  It  wholly  escaped  their  notice  that  the 
keenest  eyes  in  Ireland  were  taking  ironical  note  of 
their  grave  deliberations,  and  that  the  face  which 
met  their  eyes  when  they  turned  them  on  it,  in  such 
doleful,  troubled  guise,  wore  a  look  of  mingled  drol- 
lery and  exultation  when  their  eyes  were  turned 
away.  They  little  knew  Florence  MacCarthy.  In 
ftict  they  set  him  down  as  a  man  of  weak  intellect, 
from  whom  little  danger  was  to  be  apprehended, 
son-in-law  as  he  was  of  the  Earl  of  Clancarthv. 

A  few  days  more — ^jiist  as  many  as  the  voyage 
from  Ireland  to  England  then  took — and  Florence 
MacCarthy  was  an  inmate  of  the  Tower  of  London. 
With  all  his  hopes  of  a  speedy  deliverance — all  his 
strong  self-reliance,  his  heart  sank  within  him  as  he 
passed  under  the  gloomy  arch  of  that  dread  abode, 
where  blighted  hojie,  disappointed  ambition,  hum- 
bled pride,  a' id  bleeding  hearts,  marked,  with 
tears  and  sighs  the  weary  hours  that  lay  between 
them  and  the  hangman's  rope,  or  the  headsman's 
axe.  How  could  Florence  MacCarthy  fail  to  feel 
the  blighting  chill  of  the  dreary  place  when  he 
thought  how  many  of  his  kindred  had  pined  years 
of  their  lives  away  in  the  depths  of  that  fortress- 
prison, — how  many  of  them  had  gone  thence  but  to 


TUK   FORTUNKS   OP    AN    luiSH  .CllIRF. 


119 


eel 

he 

ara 

iSS- 

to 


If 


the  phice  of  execution  ?  With  the  blood  of  the  Ger- 
aldiiies,  as  well  as  of  the  MacCarthys,  coursing  through 
his  veins,  he  could  not  forget  that  liis  maternal  an- 
cestors had  been  oftener  tenants  of  tlie  Tower  than, 
perhaps,  any  other  lords  of  the  old  or  new  Irish,  lie 
knew  full  well  that  even  then  one  of  the  Geraldines 
was  before  him  in  the  Tower,  viz..  Lord  James  Fitz- 
gerald, the  only  son.  of  the  great  rebel,  Gerald,  Earl 
of  Desmond,  sent  by  his  motlier  as  a  hostage  when 
her  heroic  husband  was  in  his  sorest  strait,  in  the 
hope  of  saving  his  life,  and  the  remnant  of  his  broken 
fortunes.     Alas  for  the  cruel  disappointment ! 

So  Floience  McCarthy  was  duly  consigned  to  the 
loving  care  of  Sir  Owen  Ilopton,  Lieutenant  of  the 
Tower,  and  his  name  was  formally  ad*led  to  the  list 
of  State  prisoners. 

Weeks  and  weeks  passed  away ;  the  glories  of  au- 
tumn had  faded  from  tlie  earth,  and  icy  whiter 
reigned,  yet  still  the  young  husband  of  Lady  Ellen 
MoCartliy,  the  noble  bridegroom  of  Muckruss,  lay  in 
"durance  vile,"  his  days  spent  in  the  dull  monotony 
of  prison  life,  his  nights  cheered  by  dreams  of  the 
loved  one  far  away,  hoping  every  day  to  be  re- 
leased, yet  every  day  disappointed.  So  the  dismal 
wintry  liours  dragcct!<l  their  slow  lenorth  alontj,  varied 
only  by  the  half-hour's  walk  everyday  in  the  court- 
yard of  the  Tower,  undtr  the  survcilLoicc  of  certain 
officials. 

Here  the  pnsoners  had  the  melancholy  satisfaction 
of  meeting  once  a  day,  o-td  j,lthough  their  conversa- 


M 


120 


MacCaiitiiy  Mouk;  ob, 


1 


tion  was  uccossarily  restricted  to  the  most  ordinary 
and  comnion-pliice  topics,  it  was  still  something  to 
enjoy  human  discourse  lor  ever  so  brief  a  space  and 
under  how  many  restrictions  soever.  For  several 
days,  nay,  for  some  weeks  after  his  arrival,  Florence 
had  looked  in  vain,  d-iy  by  day,  for  the  a[)pearance 
of  his  cousin,  and  in  answer  to  his  inquiries,  he  was 
told  that  Lord  James  Fit/,gerald  was  sick.  "  Sick !" 
repeated  Florence  to  himself,  "  sick  in  this  gloomy 
prison,  far  away  from  his  -mother  and  from  all  his 
kindred ! — Poor  youth  ! — how  sad  a  fate  is  thine  !" 

At  lentjcth  the  cousins  met,  and  Florence  looked 
with  wonder  and  with  pity  on  the  thin,  attenuated 
form  and  sunken  cheeks  and  lack-lustre  eyes  of  the 
tall,  pale  young  man  who  had  grown  up  from  child- 
hood to  manhood  a  sickly  household  plant  witliin  the 
Tower  walls.  Clad  in  a  tisjfht-litthiix  doublet  of 
black  velvet,  with  silken  hose  of  the  same  sable  hue,'"' 
the  lank  figure  and  pallid  countenance  of  the  young 
man  were  all  too  plainly  discernible.  It  was  hard, 
indeed,  to  trace  in  his  wan  features  the  bold  linea- 
ments of  his  martial  race,  or  to  recognize  in  Jiim  the 
son  of  that  stout  Earl  Gerald,  who  had  for  eight 
years  upheld  the  cause  of  faith  and  country  against 
the  whole  vast  power  of  Elizabeth. 

.*  It  is  lioth  sad  aud  curious  to  read,  amouffst  tlie  Stato  PaptM-a 
of  Euglaiid,  the  long  lists  of  charges,  periodically  rotunifd  hy 
the  Litsutuinuit  of  tli«  Tower  in  wiiicli  such  items  aro  set:-!!  year 
after  year  as  *' a  blacji  veli-et  <loublet."  or '"so  uiany  jiaiis  of 
silken  hose,"  ftiid  alas !  very  often,  "  physic"  for  "  tile  Enri  of 


•) 


mg 


I'lir 
of 


II 


Tub  Fortunes  op  an  Irisu  Chief. 


121 


■ 


With  a  quivering  voice  Florence  accosted  this 
mournful  representative  of  the  princely  palatines  of 
Southern  Ireland.  "  God  save  you,  Lord  James;  I 
am  well  pleased  to  see  you  ahroad !  I  have  in- 
quired after  your  health  many  times,  and  received  at 
times  but  poor  accounts  thereof." 

"  Truly,  I  have  suiTered  much  of  late,"  said  the 
young  Geraldine,  *'  but  I  tliank  God  I  am  somewhat 
better  now.  You  are  the  ]\[r.  Florence  McCarthy  of 
whose  arrival  I  was  told  some  weeks  since  ?" 

*'  The  same,  and  your  loving  cousin  to  command, 
— the  son  of  Margaret  Fitz  Maurice,  your  near  kms- 
woman — " 

"  And  of  Donogh  M.ieCarthy  Reagh ; — I  am  proud 
to  own  our  kindred.  AVcre  the  place  other  than  it 
is,  I  would  bid  you  welcome,  but  you  will  admit 
that  it  were  small  kindness  to  welcome  you  here  !" 
and  the  young  man  glanced  around  with  a  visible 
shudder. 

It  was  not  the  place  for  confidential  discourse,  but 
still,  as  the  cousins  walked  together  up  and  down 
the  courtyard,  they  found  opportunities  of  exchang- 
ing a  few  words  now  and  then  on  their  own  imme 
diate  affairs,  such  as,  even  if  they  were  overheard, 
could  damage  neither. 

"  I  hear  your  marriage  with  the  Lord  Clancarthy's 
daughter  is  tlu;  cause  of  your  being  here,"  said  Lor<l 
James.  "  Pity  it  is  that  you  asked  not  the  Queen's 
consent." 

Florence  did  not  venture  to  tell  his   cousin  that 


122 


MacCartiiy  More;  or, 


had  he  done  so,  it  would  have  been  an  offence  almost 
as  great  as  tlie  marriage  itself,  which  could  then 
never  have  taken  place,  as  he  knew  full  well.  He 
merely  said  aloud  that  had  he  hut  thought  the  mar- 
riage would  have  caused  ller  Highness'  displeasure, 
tiiere  v^'ould  have  been  no  need  to  ask  her  o-racioua 
consent,  thereby  insinuating  that  the  marriage  would 
not  have  been  thougiit  of. 

"Were  it  not  that  my  wife,"  said  Florence,  "be- 
ing young  and  of  light  mind,  hath  unlawfully  and 
unwisely  withdrawn  herself  from  the  charge  of  Her 
Majesty's  servants  hi  Cork,  and  betaken  herself  to 
parts  unknown,  I  would  scarce  have  been  sent 
hither,  as  Sir  Thomas  Xorreys  was  well  disposed  to- 
wards me,  and  had  written  to  the  Queen's  Highness 
on  my  behalf  I  have  hopes,  nevertheless,  of  being 
released  ere  long,  for  I  hear  the  Queen's  anger  to- 
wards me  is  somewhat  cooled  of  late." 

The  young  Geraldine  shook  his  head.  He  knew 
from  his  own  sad  expeiience  how  precarious  were  the 
chances  of  being  "released"  when  once  the  Tower- 
gates  closed  on  any  one,  especially  of  their  race  and 
country,  ilo  siglied  to  think  how  many  a  time  hope 
deferred  had  made  his  heart  sick,  until  now  he  had 
come  to  hope  no  more.  Indeed  all  the  powers  of  his 
mind  and  all  the  feelings  of  his  heart  were  dulled 
and  blunted ;  separated  since  earliest  childhood  from 
his  mother  and  sisters,  brought  up  in  the  Tower 
amongst  cold  strangers,  trained  and  educated  by 
professors   of  the   new   religion   appointed  by   the 


^i 


i 


»        ! 


■■ 


\ 


p 


. 


The  Fortunes  of  an  Irish  Chibf. 


123 


Queen  herself,  taught  to  regard  the  old  faith  with 
abhorrence,  and  his  father's  memory  as  an  heir-loom 
of  shame,  what  could  be  expected  from  the  young 
son  of  Desmond  but  the  poor  blighted  thing  he  was, 
a  withered,  sapless  branch  of  the  noblest  Norman  tree 
planted  in  the  soil  of  Ireland.  A  strange  and  sad 
fate  was  his,  that  poor  young  prisoner  in  the  Tower; 
prisoner  for  no  fault  of  his,  but  given  as  a  hostage  in 
an  evil  hour,  and  for  his  father's  sins  of  patriotism 
and  fidelity  to  his  faith,  kept  a  life-long  prisoner ;  he, 
the  heir  of  one  of  Ireland's  proudest  names,  the  lord 
of  a  principality. 

It  was  a  startling  discovery  for  Florence  when,  in 
one  of  their  earliest  interviews,  he  found  that  his 
young  cousin  had  no  community  of  faith  or  feeling 
with  him ;  that  he  was  dead  to  his  country,  and  dead 
to  the  faith  for  which  his  father,  and  his  uncles,  and 
so  many  of  his  kindred,  had  laid  down  their  lives, 
and  suffered  every  imaginable  evil.  ICven  for  the 
mother  that  bore  him,  or  the  sisters  who  had  been 
his  companions  in  childhood,  the  unfortunate  young 
man  cared  but  little,  as  Florence  perceived  with 
amazement,  and  at  first  with  disgust.  The  latter 
feeling,  however,  soon  gave  place  to  i)ity,  when  his 
keen  and  reflective  mind  penetrated  the  truth,  that 
all  feeling  had  been  frozen  out  of  that  young,  lonely 
heart,  and  that  mind  and  body  were  alike  enfeebled 
hj  the  strange,  unnatural  life  the  young  Geraldine 
had  led  from  his  infant  years.  Nor  could  his  kins- 
man make  any  attempt  to   arouse   him  from  this 


m 


EsMI 


r 


m^%-r 


124 


MacCarthy  More;  or, 


niournful  apathy;  the  subjects  on  which  he  would 
necessarily  have  had  to  speak  Avere  precisely  those 
that  would  have  been  most  dangerous  to  both,  if 
tiieir  conversation  were  overheard.  Indeed,  he  had 
but  few  opportunities  afterwards  of  speaking  to  him, 
for,  wlietiier  by  accident  or  design,  it  so  iiappened 
that  the  cousins,  if  seen  walking  together,  were  sure 
to  be  joined  by  some  tliird  person. 

But  be  tliis  as  it  might,  Florence  liad  soon  matters 
of  more  immediate  interest  to  occupy  his  thoughts. 
Towards  the  end  of  March  he  Avas  brouLjht  before  the 
I*rivy  Council  for  examination,  much  to  his  own 
satisfaction.  He  had  been  eagerly  looking  forward 
to  this  summons,  supposing  that  only  the  opportuni- 
ty was  Avanting  to  enable  him  to  justify  himself  be- 
fore the  Lords,  some  of  Avhom  were  his  very  good 
friends. 

It  was  with  more  of  hope  than  fear,  therefore,  that 
he  found  himself,  that  wild  ^Marcli  day,  in  the  august 
presence  of  her  Majesty's  Privy  Council.  lie  looked 
around  the  circle  in  hopes  that  some  of  his  former 
court  acquaintances  woidd  give  some  sign  of  recog- 
nition; but  he  looked  in  vain — every  face  was  as 
hard  and  cold  as  stone.  Tliis  miglit  be  only  the  of- 
ficial aspect  put  on  for  eftect,  but  in  spite  of  himself 
he  felt  depressed  and  uneasy.  His  habitual  self- 
control  fortunately  enabled  him  to  conceal  the 
strange,  and  to  himself,  inexplicable  fear  that  had 
come  upon  him.  He  stood  before  the  assembled 
lords,  to  all  outward  appearance,  calm  and  cold  as 


I 


TUK   FORTUNKS    OV    AN    IlilSII    ClJIBP. 


125 


themselves.  "  Let  thein  e'en  make  tlic  worst  of  it," 
he  thought,  "it  is  but  marriage  after  all:  they  can- 
not make  it  a  state  oiilnce.  Ellen  was  not  even  the 
Queen's  Avarcl  1" 

Tlie  first  question  put  to  him,  in  a  tone  of  porten- 
tious  gravity,  chilled  his  heart  and  blanched  hia 
cheek.  Had  a  thunderbolt  fallen  at  his  feet  he  could 
not  be  more  astonislied : — 

"  What  acquaintance  have  you  had  of  SiRWiLLiAii 
Stanley  ?     How  long  have  you  known  liim  ?'* 

It  required  all  Florence's  powers  of  dissimulation 
to  enable  him  to  answer  with  tolerable  composure, 
"  I  knew  Sir  William  Stanley  when  he  was  Sheriif  of 
the  County  of  Cork." 

"  What  letters,"  he  was  next  asked  "  liave  you 
written  to  Sir  William  Stanley,  or  received  from  him, 
and  by  whom  were  the  same  conveyed  ?  also  what 
messages  have  passed  between  you  since  your  first 
acquaintance  ?" 

To  this  Florence  replied  that  he  had  never  had  any 
dealings  with  the  said  Sir  William  Stanley  since  he 
had  left  her  Majesty's  service. 

"  What  message  did  you  send  to  Stanley,  or  to 
any  other  in  foreign  parts,  by  William  Hurley,  and 
what  was  the  cause  of  Hurley's  going  beyond 
seas  ?" 

Again  Florence's  cheek  grew  pale,  but  he  answer- 
ed firmly — "I  have  never  heard  of  Hurley  since  hii 
departure  from  this  realm." 

"  What  letters  or  messages  have  passed  between 


12G 


MacCartiiy  More;  oh, 


i. 


one  Jacques  Franceschi,  formerly  Stanley's  Lieuten- 
ant, and  one  Wayman,  his  Ensign ;  and  did  you  not 
speak  with  the  said  Wayman  before  his  departure 
out  of  Ireland  ?" 

After  a  short  pause,  as  if  of  recollection,  Florence 
replied — "  I  received  a  message  from  said  Jacques 
by  Wayman,  requiring  of  me  to  pay  £20  due  to  one 
Mr.  Marbury,  a  servant  of  the  Lord  Chancellor's." 

"Do  you  know  one  Edward  Bermingham,  who 
hath  been  living  some  time  here  in  England  ?"  To 
this  Florence  replied  in  the  negative, 

"  Did  you  know  of  any  messages  or  letters  sent  by 
said  Bermingham  to  Sir  William  Stanley,  or  any 
other  beyond  '  seas  ?"  The  answer  was  again, 
"  No." 

"Did  you  not  know  one  Donogh  O'Connor,  an 
Irishman  and  an  artificer,  dwelling  in  London,  and 
was  not  the  same  O'Connor  sent  with  Bermingham 
on  some  special  matter  to  the  Duke  of  Parma?" 

"  What  letters  or  messages  have  passed  between 
you  and  certain  Irish  Bishops  and  others  of  that 
nation  remaining  in  Spain  within  the  space  of  two 
years  ?" 

To  all  these  questions  Florence  still  replied  in  the 
negative. 

"  Did  you  not  know  one  Allen  Martin,  of  Calway  ? 
and  were  you  not  privy  to  certain  letters  and  mes- 
Bages  of  his  sent  to  the  Duke  of  Parma  ?" 

Florence  admitted  that  he  knew  Allen  Martin,  a 
student  in  one  of  the  Inns  of  Court  in  London* 


i' 


k 


TuE  Fortune?  op  an  Irish  Ciiibp. 


127 


es- 


but  he  did  not  know,  he  said,  of  his  having  any  deal- 
ings "with  the  Duke  of  Parma.* 

tSo  ended  the  examination  from  which  Florence  had 
hoped  so  much.  Not  a  word  had  been  said  of  his 
marriage,  but  he  knew  and  I'elt  that  things  liad  taken 
a  far  more  serious  turn,  and  that  some  enemy  had 
been  willfullv  at  work  to  elfect  his  ruin. 

In  order  that  the  reader  may  understand  the  posi- 
tion in  which  Florence  tlien  found  hunself,  we  must 
explain  in  biief  who  Sir  William  Stanley  was. 

A  year  or  two  before,  and  no  oflicer  m  Elizabeth's 
service  was  more  trusted,  or  more  honored  than  he. 
In  Ireland,  he  had  served  with  high  distinction  all 
through  the  late  Geraldine  rebellion,  and  had  won 
the  good  opinion,  even  of  "  the  Irish  enemy,"  by  his 
gallant  bearing  and  his  humane  and  honorable  con- 
duct, as  compared  with  the  other  English  Generals  of 
that  day.  During  that  time  he  and  Florence,  serving 
together,  had  become  friends.  At  the  end  of  the 
Desmond  war  he  had  been  sent  to  serve  in  the  Low 
Countries  under  the  Earl  of  Leicester,  havinir  under 
his  command  a  battalion  of  Irish  soldiers  recruited 
by  himself.  There  he  had  again  covered  himself 
with  glory,  and  was  made  Governor  of  an  important 
town  he  had  captured,  Deventer  on  the  Isel.  This 
town  he  had,  to  the  amazement  of  friend  and  foe, 
given  up  to  the  enemy — the  hated  Spaniard,  without 


*  The  account  of  this  curious  examination  is  taken  almost 
verbatim  from  Daniel  McCarthy's  admirable  •'  Life  and  Letters 
of  Florence  McCarthy,"  already  quoted. 


128 


MacCautiiy  More;  or, 


any  known  reason !  Tlie  news  of  this  treason  had 
electrified  the  whole  English  realm  and  made  Eliza- 
beth foam  with  rage. 

Now  after  the  lapse  of  nigh  two  years,  Florence 
McCarthy  found  himself  charged  with  complicity  in 
Stanley's  mysterious  crime.  No  wonder  it  was,  that 
his  heart  sank  within  him. 


'! 


) 


TlIK    FOHTUNES    OP   AN   IlllSII    ClIIEF. 


129 


id 
;a- 

ce 
in 
lat 


CHAPTER  Vril. 

The  Earl  of  Clancarthy  had  returned  to  liis  coun- 
try, and  his  lady- wile,  had  somehow  obtained  per- 
mission to  return  to  her  homo,  and  wliat  domestic 
felicity  she  could  enjoy  with  her  dissolute  and  heart- 
less husband.    Their  daughter  was  gone,  none  knew 
wJiither,  her  husband  was  a  prisoner  in  the  Tower 
of  London ;  so  affairs  stood  in  the  late  summer  of 
1590,  two  years  after  the  marriage  of  Lady   Ellen. 
Very  lonely  was  the  lite  of  the  noble  daughter  of 
the  Geraldines  in  her  husband's  castle,  now  that  she 
was   deprived  of  her  only  companion.     It  is  true, 
Lady  Ellen  was  not,  in  all  respects,  what  her  mother 
could  have  desired ;  with  all  her  beauty  and  grace, 
her  mind  was  of  no  very  high  order,  slie  had  more 
of  her  father  than  her  mother  in  her  light,  and  ra- 
ther frivolous  nature,  yet  still  the  absence  of  her  only 
child  was  keenly  felt  by  the  deserted  wife  of  the  pro- 
fligate Earl.      The  warmest  feelings    of  her  heart 
were   buried   in  the  foreign  grave  of  her  son,  the 
3^oung  Baron  of  Valentia,  who  had  shewn  himself, 
during  the  years  of  childhood,  more  of  a  Geraldine 
than  a  MacCarthy, — a  born  rebel  against  British  ty- 
ranny, generous  to  a  fault,  prompt  to  love,  and  as 
prompt  to  hate.     But  the  brave  boy  was  gone,  his 
young  life    "  nipped  i'   the  bud,"  and,  be   EUen'a 
faults  of  mind  or  heart  what  they  might,  she  was 


130 


MacCautuy  Mork;  ok, 


her  mother's  all  on  cartli,  and  licr  heart  uas  torn 
with  anxiety  as  to  her  fate.  In  silence  and  in  soli- 
tude Hhe  i)ined  away,  the  snow  of  premature  atre 
day  by  day  settling  down  on  her  once  auburn  tresses, 
stealing  their  beauty  away,  and  telling  tlie  mournful 
tale  of  a  blighted  life,  a  heart  breaking  with  silent 
sorrow.  The  brief  interval  of  joy  and  peace  which 
the  visit  of  Florence  MacCarthy  and  her  daughter's 
marriage  had  brought,  was  but  as  the  meteor  flash 
that  illumines  for  a  momeiit  the  moonles:",  sky  of  mid- 
night, and  the  flow  of  Lady  Clancartliy's  sad  life 
was  as  dark  and  cheerless  as  before.  Happily  for 
her,  she  liad  early  learned  to  bow  her  head  in  s\ib. 
mission  to  the  Divine  will;  her  spirit,  chastened  I)y 
life-long  sorrow,  had  come  to  bear  all  thhigs  meekly, 
and  could  she  but  have  learned  tliat  her  dauLjhter 
was  in  a  place  of  safety,  all  the  rest  she  was  content 
to  bear,  then  as  before. 

Fortunately,  this  state  of  suspense  did  not  last 
long.  The  Countess,  wiiU  one  of  her  attendants, 
was  one  day  walking  by  the  river  side,  a  short  dis- 
tance from  the  Castle,  whci  she  was  startled  by  the 
sound  of  an  arrow  whizzing  through  the  air,  and 
Striking  a  rock  a  few  paces  in  advance  of  where  she 
had  stopped  a  moinent  to  gaze  on  the  beauty  of 
earth  and  sky.  The  damsel  who  accompanied  lier 
would  have  fled  precipitately,  but  the  Countess  com- 
manded her  to  remain.  "  Be  not  afraid,"  slie  said, 
"  no  harm  is  meant  us.  I  Avould  see  yonder  arrow  !" 
pointing  to  where  it  lay.     Fearful  as  she  Avas  of  an* 


"■ 


j> 


hier 

,ia, 

IV  !" 
an* 


i 


k 


TiiK  Fortunes  op  an  Iuisu  Cuikf. 


131 


other  coniing  witli  surer  aim  from  tlie  same  quiver, 
the  damsel  was  still  unwilling  to  (lisol)oy  a  mistress 
whom  all  her  dependents  loved.  Wiiile  she  stood 
a  moment  hesitating,  tlie  Countess,  muttering  to  her- 
self the  old  sa3ing,  "  second  thoughts  are  best," 
went  forward  quickly  and  took  np  the  arrow.  Iler 
keen  eye  had  detected  a  paper  protruding  from  un- 
der the  featherv  dart ;  this  she  managed  to  secrete, 
then  handing  the  arrow  to  h'*-  trembling  attendant, 
she  told  her,  with  a  laint  smile,  *'  Methought  it  had 
been  sent  with  a  love-message  for  my  fair  Maureen, 
an'  it  were  so,  there  is  no  trace  of  it  now ;  mayhap 
you  will  find  it  somewhere  hereabouts." 

"Xay,  madam,"  said  IMaureen,  somewhat  reas- 
sured, but  still  declining  to  take  the  arrow  in  her 
hand,  •'  nay,  madam,  school-craft  hath  little  to  do 
with  the  love-messages  of  such  as  we." 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  the  Countess  lost  no  tmie 
in  returning  home.  Having  reached  her  own  apart- 
ments, she  dismissed  her  attendant,  and  opcnln<r  the 
precious  missive,  found  therein  a  few  woidc*  in  the 
familiar  hand  of  her  daugliter — 

"  I  am  well,  and  in  safety.     More  1  sny  not  now." 

There  was  no  signature,  but  the  mother's  heart 
needed  none.  Heaven  had  sent  relief  to  her  trou- 
bled mmd,  and  her  fears  for  her  child's  safety  being 
thus  happily  dispelled,  she  calmly  resigned  herself 
to  bear  the  troubles  and  trials  of  her  daily  life. 

Eighteen  months  had  passed  since  Lady  Ellen's 
marriage,  fifteen  of  which  iier  young  husband  had 


; 


MIUMM 


182 


MacCarthy  More;  or, 


spent  m  the  Tower,  when  Florence  one  day  took  up 
his  pen  and  indited  a  letter  to  Burleigh,  Lord  High 
Treasurer  of  EnGfland.  Considerincc  the  cause  of  his 
imprisonment,  the  letter  was  a  bold  one.  In  it  the 
politic  "  gentleman  of  the  MacCarthy s"  all  but  ac- 
knowledged that  he  had  himself  been  instrumental 
in  effecting  his  wife's  escape,  and  slyly  boasted  that 
she  had  been  so  carefully  concealed  that  "  few  men 
knew  what  was  become  of  her."  He  complained  that 
her  father  was  still  seeking  to  find  out  the  ])lace  of 
her  concealment,  with  intent  to  dispose  of  her  ac- 
cording to  his  own  pleasure,  and  besought  Lord  Bur* 
leisrh  to  send  letters  to  the  Vice-President  of  Man- 
8ter,  instructing  that  functionary  to  prevent  the  Earl 
from  molesting  his  daughter  on  her  re-appearance, 
and  further  to  permit  the  lady  to  live  in  her  hus- 
band's house,  or  with  his  friends,  in  such  wise  as  be- 
came lier  rank. 

This  clever  and  ingeniously-constructed  epistle 
was,  (iitrango  t:>  say,  graciously  received,  and  the  de- 
sired instructions  actuallv  sentto  the  Vice-President. 
Scarce  twenty-four  hours  had  elapsed  after  the  an- 
nouncement was  made  to  Florence  tliat  Lord  Bur- 
leigh had  acceded  to  his  request,  when  the  gate  of 
his  prison  opening,  gave  admission  to  Lady  Ellen, 
with  Una  O'Leary,  and  the  faithful  Carbery  man, 
Bryan  na  Carda!  Again,  after  so  many  dreary 
months  of  separation,  Florence  MacCarthy  clasped 
to  his  heart  the  young  wife  to  whom,  as  to  himself, 
their  union  had  brought  but  sorrow  and  unrest.    A 


t 


i 


The  Foutunks  of  an  Irish  Chief. 


133 


+ 


marvellously  quick  passage  must  the  lady  have  had 
from  Ireland,  and  so  Florence  told  her  with  t'nat  low, 
quiet  laugh  that  was  peculiar  to  himself. 

*'  But  how  is  it,  Florence,"  asked  Lady  Ellen, 
"  that  you  have  obtained  permission  for  me  to  come 
hither?" 

"  I  have  obtained  permission  for  more  than  that," 
he  replied  exultuigly,  "  you  are  now  at  liberty, 
sweetheart,  to  appear  abroad  at  will.  There  be  let- 
ters of  Lord  Burleigh's  on  their  way  to  Ireland,  com- 
manding Korreys  to  see  that  my  little  wife  be  no 
further  molested  by  her  father  or  any  other  person, 
and  that  she  be  aUowed  to  live  in  my  house.  What 
say  you  now,  fair  Ailecn?" 

"  I  say,"  she  smilingly  replied,  *♦  that  I  begin  to 
tliink  you  can  work  magic." 

"  That  can  I,  EUeu  !  and  I  will  teach  you  to  work 
it,  too  !" 

"  What  mean  vou,  Florence?" 

Drawing  her  to  him,  he  whispered  acme  words 
that  made  her  start  and  turn  pale. 

"  Oh  !  Florence,  I  cannot — 

*•  You  can  and  shall— for  my  sake,  for  your  own 
sake,  an'  you  love  nie." 

"  For  your  sake  1  would  do  much,"  she  said,  her 
dark  eyes  filling  with  tears,  "but  that — oh  !  Flor- 
ence, bethink  you  of  my  youth — 

"And  bethink  you,  sw^Tet  wife,  what  the  conse- 
quence must  be,  an'  y?  :i  do  it  not." 

A  pause  ensued ;  Ludy  Ellen  stood  with  downcast 


134 


MacCartiiy  Mork;  or, 


eyes,  silent  and  thoiiglitful,  the  color  on  her  cheelj 
coining  and  going  like  clouds  over  the  April  sky ; 
Florence  watching  her  the  while  with  a  smile  of 
conscious  power.  At  length  she  raised  her  eyes  to 
his,  and  saidj  while  her  voice  trembled  with  emo- 
tion— 

"Florence,  even  that  will  I  do  for  vou  : 

"Thanks,  Ellen!  I  knew  you  would  not  fail 
me!"  said  Florence,  with  genuine  feeling..  *•  You 
must  leave  me  now,"  he  wdiispered,  drawing  her  for 
a  moment  to  his  bosom  ;  *'  remain  at  Mistress  But- 
ler's till  we  see  what  fate  hith  in  store  for  us." 

Two  days  more  and  the  Lady  Ellen  McCarthy  w^as 
bowing  before  the  throne  of  the  red-haired,  fiery-eyed 
Queen  of  England ;  Lord  Burleigh  himself  ushered 
her  into  the  royai  presence,  and  in  a  low  voice  told 
the  Queen  who  she  w^as. 

*'In  sooth,  a  comely  damsel !"  said  Elizabeth,  fix- 
ing her  bold  eyes  on  the  face  of  the  young  Irish  lady 
where  she  knelt  in  her  timid  grace  before  her.  "  So 
this  is  my  lord  Clancarthy's  daughter,  of  whom  we 
are  tired  hearing.  God's  life  1  damsel,  you  are  ovei- 
bold  to  appear  before  us,  after  your  lewd  practices. 
How  came  you  to  withdraw  yourself  from  the  cus- 
tody of  our  servants  in  Cork?" 

"May  it  please  your  gracious  Majesty,"  said  Lady 
Ellen,  in  a  voice  scarcely  audible,  her  face  covered 
with  blushes,  *•  I  heard  that  my  father  was  like  to 
have  me  back,  and  meant  to  get  a  divorce — " 

**  Ay,  marry,"  interrupted  Elizabeth  with  -^  'iCM^%^ 


t 


-   ^      S  - 


Thb  Fv^rtunes  of  an  Irish  Chief. 


135 


^ 


I 


1 


laugh,  "  you  liked  not  the  divorce  !  An'  you  had  had 
more  of  your  bridegroom's  company,  you  might  like 
it  bettor.  But  now  we  bethink  us,  how  did  you  escape 
from  Cork,  and  whither  did  you  betake  yourself?" 

"  An'  it  please  your  Iliglniess,"  said  Lady  Ellen 
in  sore  distress,  "  I  would  fain  be  excused  from  an 
swering  those  questions." 

The  fiery  eyes  began  to  flash.  "  God's  death 
young  lady,  answer!" 

With  a  faltering  voice  Lady  Ellen  spoke,  not  dar- 
ing to  raise  her  eyes — "  A  man  from  my  husband's 
country  met  us — that  is,  my  waiting-maid  and  I-— 
outside  the  gates — and— and — " 

"  And  what  ?    Speak  out,  lass,  speak  out !  '• 

"  And  conducted  us  to  the  house  of  my  husband's 
foster-brother,  near  Kilbrittan." 

*'  Kilbiittan  !  one  of  MacCarthy  Reagh's  castles  I 
— and  her  husband's  foster-brother!  You  hear?" 
turning  to  Burleigh,  who  bowed  assent.  "And  so, 
young  lady,  your  husband's  foster-brother,  doubt- 
leisL\.  by  your  husband's  contrivance,  kept  you  all  this 
time  concealed  near  Kilbrittan  Castle !  God's  life, 
damsel,  is  it  so  ?" 

"  I  was  there  but  a  short  time,  your  Highness,'* 
faltered  out  the  young  lady.   • 

**  Where,  then,  have  you  been  ?"  The  stern  voice 
of  the  royal  speaker  made  the  young  heart  in  Clan- 
carthy's  daughter  sink  within  her ;  she  knew,  how- 
ever, that  there  wa»  nothing  for  it  but  to  answer  the 
question  truly,  be  the  consequence  what  it  might. 


136 


MacCarthy  More;  or, 


"Here  in  London — lodged  not  far  fi,.ui  the  Tower 
— so  that  I  could  see  my  husband's  prison,  though 
I  could  not  see  himself." 

Blushincj  at  her  own  boldness  in  sayincj  so  much, 
and  fearing  ^  sudden  outburst  of  anger  from  the 
Queen,  Ladj  \""  bowed  her  head  lower  than  be- 
fore. ■"' 

Great  was  her  surprise,  and  still  greater  her  sense 
of  relief,  wlien  she  heard  the  Queen  say  with  her 
shrill,  coarse  laugh:  "  By  the  soul  of  our  father  King 
Henry,  but  this  is  a  good  joke  !  Heard  you  ever 
the  like,  lords  and  ladies?  There  was  all  IMunster, 
ay !  marry,  and  all  London  to  boot,  wondering  what 
had  become  of  this  young  lady,  and  here  she  was 
snugly  nesting  at  our  very  door.  Ho  !  ho !  ho ! — a 
keenwitted  knave  i?  this  Florence  MacCarthy !" 
Then  turning  to  Lady  Elkn,  she  said,  with  mock 
gravity — '*  Wlierefore,  we  i)ray  thee,  fair  mistress 
MncCarthy,  hath  it  pic?  ^ed  thee  to  visit  our  court  at 
this  present  ?" 

"My  gracious  Queen,"  said  Lady  Ellen,  harassed 
and  bewildered,  falling  on  her  knees  as  she  spoke, 
•'  r  come  to  petition  your  Grace  on  behalf  of  my 
husband.  He  hath  ever  Deen  ?  most  loyal  subject, 
your  Highness,  and  his  only  desire  is  to  live  in  peace 
in  his  own  country  on  the  lands  he  hath  inherited 
from  his  fiither,  the  late  Sir  Donogh  MacCarthy,  who 
was  likewise  your  Grace's  bounded  servitor." 

"  Marry,  young   lady !"  said   the    Queen,  in  her 
abrupt  way,  '*  there  be  some  who  say  that  your  bus- 


i 


sss 


Tub  Fortunks  of  an  Irish  Ciiirf. 


137 


band  is  not  at  heart  so  well  afTected  towards  us  as 
his  father  was.  Nallicless,  young  lady  of  Chincar- 
tliy,  it  hath  been  represented  to  us  that  your  lius- 
band,  in  the  matter  of  the  marriage,  offended  uti  wit- 
tingly, and  knowing  tliat  iie  hath  served  against  our 
enemies,  we  will  take  note  of  his  case.  Pending  tlie 
decision,  Lady  Ellen  McCarthy,  you  can  visit  your 
husband  wlien  you  will,  and  we  shall  be  glad  to  see 
you  at  our  court,  if  so  be  you  can  come  hither  witli 
some  latly  of  good  estate." 

Thus  graciously  dismissed,  the  young  Irish  hidy 
retired  from  the  presence,  accompanied  to  the  door 
of  tlie  throne-room  by  one  of  the  lords  in  waiting. 
Many  a  plumed  and  belted  earl  of  that  brilliant  court, 
envying  the  lot  of  the  imprisoned  chief  of  Carbery, 
would  gladly  have  paid  his  devoirs  to  the  young  and 
lovely  daughter  of  the  proud  Earl  of  Clancarthy  ;  l)ut 
Elizabeth's  jealous  hatred  of  youth  and  beauty  was 
too  well  known  to  permit  any  such  expi*ession  of 
sympathy  or  admiration  for  the  too  charming  wife  of 
Florence  McCarthy.  Even  the  grave  and  stern  face 
of  Burleigh  smiled  for  a  moment  when  the  trusted 
friend  of  Elizabeth  met  the  young  lady's  eye  as  she 
bowed  herself  out  of  the  royal  presence. 

On  rejoining  outside  her  faithful  attendants,  Bryan 
and  Una,  Lady  Ellen,  girl  like,  told  the  latter  in  a 
whisper  that  she  had  made  the  Q-aeon  laugh,  and 
that  she  did  not  find  her  half  as  liard  or  as  cruel  as 
she  expected. 

*•  The  she-wolf  1"  said  Bryan  to  Una,  as  they  walked 


188 


MacCartut  Moke;  or, 


together  behind  tlieir  mistress.  "  I'd  sooner  trust  an 
Irish  life  to  the  fiercest  l)lood-]iound  that  ever  crossed 
Slievc  Logher.  Peace  or  rest  will  I  never  know  till 
my  master  is  safe  out  of  her  hands." 

Something  similar  might  liave  been  the  thought 
that  darkened  the  broad  white  brow  of  Florence 
McCarthy  when  he  listened  to  his  wife's  account  of 
her  hiterv''n\,  brightened  by  the  ardent  fiincy  and 
the  so  easily  awakened  hopes  of  youth.  He  could 
not  find  in  ^i  h  .irt  to  tell  her  how  little  faith  he 
had  in  the  promise  of  Elizabeth  to  "  take  note  of  his 
case."  Something  had  been  gahied,  too, — his  wife 
was  invited  to  appear  at  court — that  would  give  her 
opportunities  of  interceding  for  his  release,  and  the 
vei-y  fact  of  her  being  so  invited  proved  that  the 
Queen's  anger  was  on  the  wane,  dying,  if  not  dead. 
Then  he  could  see  Ellen  every  day  without  any  risk 
to  her  or  himself.  On  the  whole,  his  prospects  were 
improving,  and  calmly  trusting  the  future  to  Provi- 
dence, he  applied  himself  with  renewed  ardor  to  the 
study  of  ancient  Irish  liistory,  which  formed  the  chief 
pleasure  of  his  solitary  hours. 

A  learned  man  was  Florence  MacCarthy  ;  few  men 
of  his  day  had  a  more  profound  and  intimate  know- 
ledge of  the  literature  of  the  Gael ;  the  bardic  re- 
cords  of  the  earlier  times,  and  the  genealogies  of 
the  great  families  were  all  familiar  to  him,  and  the 
dreams  he  dreamed  while  pondering  over  the  event- 
ful story  of  his  own  race  were,  perhaps,  the  inspira- 
tion of  his  strange  Ufa     But  it  was  not  only  in  the 


i 


■■yyygpyMp^w"***' 


><um<tsMm>9^mm^fi^i^         % 


TuE  Fortunes  of  an  Irish  Ciiikf. 


189 


(f 
I 


Irish  'language  and  its  litciature  that  Florence  JNIac- 
Carthy  pursued  his  studies.  English  and  Spanish 
were  scarce  less  familiar  to  him,*  and  Latin  was  as 
his  mother  tongue. 

During  his  Irequent  visits  to  the  Court  of  Queen 
Elizabeth,  he  had  made  the  acquaintance  of  the  most 
celebrated  Englishmen  of  that  day,  by  reason  of  his 
literary  tastes,  and  had  even  made  friends  amongst 
the  statesmen  who  surrounded  the  throne  of  Eliza- 
beth. These  friend  ships,  not  publicly  acknowledg- 
ed, mdeed,  after  his  imprisonment,  but  still  existing 
to  some  extent,  Florence  turned,  at  times,  to  good 
account  in  ways  that  often  puzzled  and  discomfited 
his  enemies. 

Such  being  Florence  MacCarthy,  it  is  easy  to  ima- 
gine that  his  capacious  and  self-sustaining  mind  Ibund 
ample  employment  for  itself  even  in  the  dull  mono- 
tony of  prison  life.  iNIany  a  plan  was  formed,  many 
a  dream  of  power — of  freedom  for  himself,  his  coun- 
try, and  his  religion — passed  in  turn  through  that 
busy,  restless  brahi,  while  Florence  sat  gloomily  in 
his  tower-chamber,  his  eyes  fixed  on  vacancy. 

In  the  midst  of  his  lofty  day  dreams,  FLrcnce 
MacCarthy  bore  well  in  mind  that  his  broad  pater- 
nal domains  were  being  scrambled  for  by  the  under- 
takers; even  the  son-in-law  of  the  English  Attorney- 
General  had  appropriated  to  himself  some  thousands 

*  The  numerous  letters  of  Florence  MacCarthy  preserved 
ftmongHt  the  English  State  Papers  are  fully  equal  ia  s'yle  to  thone 
of  any  of  the  English  statesmen  of  that  day.  He  appears,  indued, 
io  h&ve  mastered  the  language  in  all  its  idioms  and  intricacies. 


i 


140 


MAcCARiny  More,  or, 


m 


of  acres  of  the  fertile  lands  of  Carbcry.  This  had 
been  going  on  ever  since  the  lirst  news  of  their  own- 
er's imprisonment  in  London  had  reached  Ireland  ; 
and  Florence  knew  it  well,  for  he  managed  to  be 
made  acquainted,  even  in  the  Tower,  with  everything 
that  concerned  his  ailairs.  lljilil  latoly,  however,  he 
thought  it  unwise  to  enter  any  protest,  and  was  fain 
to  wait  till  the  Queen's  stormy  anger  had  sul)sided. 
That  time,  he  judged,  had  now  come.  The  Queen 
bad  promised  to  consider  his  case ;  he  would,  there- 
fore, make  a  bold  venture,  relying  on  the  good  of- 
fices before  mentioned  of  friends  in  high  places. 

So  he  took  up  his  pen  and  indited  a  petition  to  the 
Queen  that  she  would  graciously  cause  his  property 
to  be  protected  for  as  long  a  time  as  it  pleased  her 
Majesty  to  keep  him  in  prison.  More  he  did  not  ask, 
but  much  more  was  granted. 

Great  was  the  astonishment  of  the  Lords  Justices 
in  Dublin  when  they  received  a  written  order  from 
the  Queen's  Privy  Council,  that  Florence  MacCar- 
thy's  riglits  were  to  be  respected  during  his  impris- 
onment ;  that  his  "  ser^'ants,  officers,  and  tenants," 
were  to  continue  in  peaceable  possession  of  all  their 
holdings ;  "  also,"  went  on  the  royal  order,  "  that 
such  sureties  as  have  been  committed  to  prison,  or 
otherwise  injured  by  distresses  on  their  goods  for 
default  of  the  presence  of  such  of  the  suppliant's  ser- 
vants as  could  not,  by  reason  of  their  attendance 
upon  the  Lady  Ellen  MacCarthy,  his  wife,  repair 
into  that  realm,  according  to  their  bonds,  may  be  re- 


ThS    FOUI'IINKS    OF    AN    laiSlI    ClIIKP. 


141 


leased  and  sol  at  liberty,  and  tlicir  goods  restored 
unto  tliein."  This  was  much,  but  tliere  was  Btill 
more.  It  was  further  commanded  tliat  "  Daniel 
llocho,  Alouzo  O'Brien,  and  Edmund  Shibagli,  or  any 
of  the  servants  of  the  said  Florence  MacCarthy,  may 
be  permitted,  at  all  times,  to  rejK'iir  into  that  prov- 
ince, or  any  other  part  of  that  realm,  and  to  return 
hither  aji^ain,  behaving  themselves  as  dutiful  sub- 
jects with  such  commodities  and  other  necessary 
things  as  they  sliall  tratisport  for  tlie  use  and  relief 
of  their  said  master,  whereof,  praying  you  to  have 
such  convenient  regard  that  there  may  be  no  further 
occasion  of  complaint  by  them  unto  us  in  this  busi- 
ness.* 

Lady  Ellen  could  scarcely  believe  the  evidence  of 

her  senses  when  Florence  showed  her,  on  her  next 
visit,  the  copy  of  this  remarkable  document.  With 
a  smile  of  quiet  exultation  her  husband  watched 
her  as  she  read,  amused  at  the  wonder  and  amaze- 
ment her  face  expressed  as  clause  after  clause  met 
her  eye.  When  she  reached  the  end,  she  looked  up 
bewildered — 

"  Florence  !  am  I  awake — or  do  I  but  dream?" 
"We  are  all  but  dreamers  in  this  world,  mine  ov/n 
Aileen  !  but  you  are  as  w^ide  awake  now  as  you  ever 
will  be." 

"And  is  this  order  truly  from  the  Queen?" 
"  Of  a  surety  it  is,  and  the  same  is  even  now  on 
the  way  to  Ireland.     I  wot  me  well  the  Lords  Jus^ 

*  Soe  Life  and  Letters  of  Florence  MacCartby  More,  t).  77. 


142 


MacCarthy  Mork;  or, 


tices,  and  Sir  John  Popljain,  and  ^faster  Rogers  liifl 
hopeful  son-in-law,  and  all  the  rest  of  the  rohhers 
that  have  undertaken  my  lands,  will  doubt,  as  my 
little  wife  does,  whether  they  be  waking  or  sleeping 
when  tlwjy  come  to  read  it." 

"  But  I  would  fahi  know,"  said  Lady  Ellen,  "  who 
hath  -won  sivch  grace  for  you." 

*'Mine  own  self,"  said  Florence,  very  calmly; 
"my  poor  petition,  presented  by  my  Lord  Ijurleigh, 
hath  wrought  this  change.  Caged  bird  though  I 
be,  Ellen,  you  see  I  can  do  somewhat  towards  hold- 
ing mine  own.  By  this  move  we  have  gained  much; 
now  for  another  move,  that  may,  perchance,  checjk- 
mate  some  of  mine  enemies  !" 

"And  what  is  that?" 

*•  A  little  matter  I  have  in  hand,  which  I  must 
needs  keep  secret  even  from  yon,  sweet  "wife,  until 
such  time  as  the  result  be  known.  I  would  not 
trouble  your  little  head  with  my  plans  and  projects. 
It  is  meet  that  one  so  fair  and  vounij  should  not  be 
burdened  with  care.  So,  sit  you  down,  mine  own 
Aileen,  and  I  will  play  you  one  of  those  old-world 
airs  you  used  to  love." 

"Play!"  said  Lady  Ellen,  in  surprise;  "surely 
you  jest,  Florence.  Alas !  what  instrument  have 
you  in  this  dreary  place  ?"  and  she  looked  round 
with  a  visible  shudder. 

"  This  have  I,"  rei>lied  Florence,  with  a  cheerful 
smile,  as  he  drew  forth  from  under  his  cloak,  whieli 
hung  on  a  pin  over  his  bed,  a  lute  of  quaint   but 


r  im  iiiiiiii)«ilil»gi|iiiiiyu'itfiMiiiiiii<iWii; 


Tub  Foktunbs  of  an  Irish  Chirp. 


143 


costly  workmanship.  "  I  have  to  thank  the  Lady 
Ormond  for  this,"  Baid  he,  smiling  at  his  wile's  look 
of  surprise,  and  anticipating  her  question.  "  When  I 
was  free  here  in  London,  I  much  frequented  my 
Lord  of  Ormond's  house,  and  the  Countess  was 
pleased  to  take  some  pleasure  in  my  poor  perform- 
ance on  the  lute  and  the  guitar.  Mindful  of  my 
having  some  little  skill  in  music,  she  hath  sent  me 
this  for  your  entertainment  and  mine  own." 

"  .May  Heaven  requite  her  goodness  !'  said  Lady 
Ellen,  with  fervor.  "  Much  kindness  hath  she  shown 
us  both  !  Metliinks  I  owe  to  her  ladyship  the  favor 
I  have  found  at  court.  But,  Florence,  my  time  is 
short.  Play,  then,  before  I  go,  what  you  know  I 
best  love  to  hear." 

The  young  man,  smiling  sadly,  ran  his  hand  over 
the  cords  in  a  slow  and  plaintive  prelude ;  then  com- 
menced at  once  the  beautiful  air  tluit  had  so  chamied 
Lady  Ellen  in  happier  days.  As  tlie  young  wife  sat 
and  listened,  her  arm  resting  on  her  hu:sband's  knee, 
the  spell  of  the  music  fell  on  her  troubl''^  ^.eart  like 
rain  on  the  parched  eai'th.  The  preseni,  laded  from 
her  sight, — the  dreary  prison-Avalls  were  no  longer 
seen;  she  and  her  behoved  were  again  sailing  over 
the  moonlight  waters  of  Killarney, — her  mother  was 
there,  and  O'Sullivan, — 'the  lovely  scenes  of  her  child- 
hood were  around,  the  freshness  of  hope  was  spring- 
ing up  in  her  heart,  and  all  within  and  without  was 
again  bright  and  smiling.  But  this  could  not  last 
— the  music  ceased^  and  with  it  faded  the  vision  ot 


144 


MacCautiiy  Morr;  or, 


dcHglit.  The  clrcnrl  reality  was  more  than  Lady  El- 
len could  Lear.  CoverhiGj  her  face  wikli  her  liands, 
she  burst  into  tears,  and  sobbed  as  though  lier  heart 
would  ))reak. 

"Nay,  dear  one!"  whispered  Florence,  as  he  drew 
her  to  liis  heart,  "An'  tliis  be  the  etlect  of  my  mu- 
sic, I  will  return  Lady  Orniond's  lute.  I  thought  to 
give  you  pleasure,  and  instead  thereof,  I  have  but 
given  you  pain." 

"  Not  pain,  Florence, — oh  I  not  pain — surely  no  I 
— but  to  think  oi  tlien  and  now  ! — To  see  you  here — • 
a  prisoner — and  on  my  account ! — Oh  !  my  husband ! 
well  had  it  been  for  you  that  we  never  met !" 

•'  Say  not  so,  Aileen,  say  not  so !"  said  Florence, 
with  sudden  animation  ;  then  lowering  his  voice  to  a 
whisper,  he  added — ''You  may  see  me  free  ere  long. 
Be  of  good  heart !" 

Lady  Ellen  started,  looked  in  her  husband's  face, 
saw  there  something  that  confirmed  his  hopeful 
words,  and  a  thrill  of  joy  ran  through  her  heart. 
Just  then  the  turnkey  api)eared  at  the  door — it  was 
tlie  signal  for  her  departure,  and  in  a  tumult  of  min- 
gled hope  and  fear,  she  rejoined  her  attendants  with- 
out. 


TiiR  Fortunes  op  an  Irish  Chief. 


146 


CIIArTER  IX. 

The  order  of  Queen  Elizabeth  to  her  Lords  Jus- 
tices in  Ireland,  in  relation  to  the  aflairs  of  Florence 
MacCarthv,  vras  dated  15th  of  December  1500.  On 
the  19th  of  January, little  more  than  a  month  ader,  the 
following  order  of  the  Privy  Council  was  delivered 
to  the  Lieutenant  of  the  Tower,  Sir  Owen  Ilofton : 

"  To  set  Florence  MacCai  diy  at  liberty,  upon 
certain  notice  given  him  by  Mr.  Wills  and  Mr. 
Wade,  Clerks  of  Her  Majesty's  Privy  Council,  thai 
the  Earl  of  Ormond  is  entered  bond  for  £1,000  here 
to  Her  Majesty's  use,  with  condition  that  the  said 
Florence,  now  under  his  charge,  shall  not  depart  the 
realm,  nor  three  miles  from  the  city  of  London,  nor 
repair  to  the  Court  without  special  license  in  that 
behalf,  first  had  and  obtained  from  Her  Majesty's 
Privy  Council;  he  likewise  having  first  taken  bond 
of  the  said  Florence  himself  of  £2,000  with  condition 
as  above  said :  and  touching  the  charge  of  his  diet, 
&c.,  during  his  being  there,  because  of  his  present 
inability,  the  said  Lieutenant  must  stay  till  the  next 
warrant." 

Nothinij  of  this  new  turn  in  Florence's  affairs  did 
his  wife  know,  though  often  she  pondered  on  the 
meaning  of  those  words  of  his — ^"  You  may  see  me 
free  ere  long  " — until  one  day,  it  was  the  20th  day 
of  January, — who  should  enter  the  room  where  she 
sat   in  her  city  lodgings,  but    Florence  himself 


146 


MacCartht  More;  or, 


Softly  he  entered,  having  learned  from  her  delighted 
attendants  that  his  wife  was  aione.  His  opening 
of  the  door  was  all  unnoticed,  and,  closing  it  gently, 
he  stood  some  moments  regarding,  with,  the  pas- 
aionite  love  of  a  Celtic  heart,  the  graceful  figure  of 
his  young  wife,  wliere  slie  sat  with  her  face  buried  in 
her  liands,  her  elbows  restiiig  on  a  table,  her  rich 
dark  tresses  half  concealing  the  small,  white  hands, 
and  the  taper  fingers  on  which  sparkled  jewels  that 
Elizabeth  herself  might  envy ;  they  were  his  own 
gifts  to  th'j  high  born  lady  of  his  love.  The  unut- 
terable sadness,  the  w^eariness  of  spirit  that  hung 
like  a  pall  around  that  young,  slight  form,  touched 
Florence's  heart ;  he  saw  now  that  the  cheerfulness, 
even  gayety,  she  sometimes  displayed  during  her 
brief  visits  to  the  prison,  were  but  assumed  for  the 
occasion,  and,  for  the  first  time,  he  reproached  him- 
self for  having  brought  sorrow  and  trouble  to  her 
whose  life  he  would  fain  have  made  all  sunshine. 

A  hand  was  laid  on  Lady  Ellen's  shoulder ;  she 
Btarted,  raised  her  head,  mot  the  smiling  eyes  of 
Florence,  and  with  a  cry  of  joy  rushed  into  his  arms 
that  opened  to  receive  her. 

"  Oh,  Florence ! "  she  whispered, "  how — how  came 
you  here  ?  '* 

"  By  the  Queen's  good  leave,'''  her  husband  replied, 
with  a  half  sneer 

Ellen's  heart  beat  fast,  she  feared  to  put  the  ques- 
tion that  waB  on  her  lips.  At  last  she  ventured  to 
fiilter  out,  "  Iltith  she,  thon,- 


*> 


The  Fobtunks  of  an  Irish  Cuirf. 


147 


**  Set  me  free- — nay,  sweetheart,  that  were  )ver- 
nmch  to  expect  from  the  lionesB  wliose  foot  is  on  our 
nation.  Thanks  to  my  good  lord  of  Orniond,  \\  ho 
hath  gone  cecurity  for  rae,  I  am  free  to  live  outside 
the  tower,  provided  I  stray  no  farther  than  three 
miles  from  London !  " 

There  was  bitterness  in  his  tone,  but  Lady  Ellen 
heeded  it  not — "  You  have  liberty  to  remain  here, — 
say,  Florence,  is  it  so  ?  " 

The  passionate  eagerness  of  her  look  and  tone  v/as 
so  touching,  that  it  was  one  of  the  happiest  moments 
of  Florence  MacCarthy's  troubled  life  when  he  was 
able  to  answer  in  the  allirmative. 

"  God  be  praised  that  so  much  is  granted !"  E.iid 
the  lady,  with  pious  fervor — "  Even  here  we  may  bo 
happy ! " 

"  Happy  ! "  repeated  Florence,  as  he  gazed  with 
mournful  tenderness  on  the  face,  now  so  bright,  that  a 
few  moments  before  had  been  clouded  with  heavy 
sorrow — "  alas  !  m}'-  poor  Aileen  !  the  flower  of  hap- 
piness may  not  bloom  in  the  shadow  of  yonder 
prison.  Natlieless,  I  am  half  content  to  wait  for 
what  more  I  fain  would  have,  since  it  hath  pleased 
her  majesty  " — again  the  cold  sneer  disfigured  the 
handsome  face  of  the  speaker, — "  to  allow  me  the 
sweet  company  of  mine  own  wedded  wife." 

Days  and  weeks  of  quiet  happiness  followed  ;  not 
even  during  the  first  days  of  tlieir  married  life  in  the 
old  baronial  halls  on  fair  Killarney's  banks,  amid 
friends  and  faithfui  fjllowers,  and  the  tale  of  Sean* 


m 


If 


-A 


111 


KSH 


148 


MaoCarthy  More;  or, 


achie  and  the  song  of  bard,  did  the  charm  of  wedded 
love  throw  a  brighter  hak>  over  the  passing  hours, 
than  in  that  dingy  lodging  in  the  dingy  London  of 
that  day.  Strange  was  the  lot  of  that  ■.  oung  liiisband 
and  wife,  so  nobly  born.  Nearly  three  y-^-  "s  had 
passed  since  their  marriage,  and  of  all  that  tv  ae  they 
had  spent  but  a  few  days  together.  Imprisoned, 
separated, — meetinn*  when  thev  did  meet,  but  in  the 
shadow  of  prison-walls,  with  prying  eyes  and  listen- 
ing ears  around,  their  love  had  grown  tlie  fonder 
for  the  difficulties  and  dangers  that  beset  their 
path ;  their  life,  so  divided  and  yet  so  united,  had 
a  strange  and  potent  3harm  that  the  calmest  and 
most  peaceful  domestic  enjoyment  could  not  yield. 
Nor  did  they  lack  society,  when  they  felt  inclined 
for  it.  Their  visits  were  ever  welcome  at  Ormond 
House,  for  the  stern  old  soldier  of  Elizabeth,  Black 
Thomas  of  Ormond,  tlie  greatest,  truth  to  tell,  of 
the  un-Irish  and  anti-Ivish  Butlers, — was  the  friend 
and  patron  of  Florence  MacCarthy,  and  his  lady- 
wife  had  a  kind,  motherly  heart  for  the  da.ighter  of 
her  cousin.  Lady  Konora  of  Desmond.  At  Ormond 
House  the  young  couple  met  the  foremost  men  of 
Elizabeth's  Court — Lord  Burlei<jh  and  his  son,  Sir 
Robert  Cecil,  were  not  u::!fVoquijnt  guests  in  the 
drawing  room  of  the  stately  Irish  Countess  ;  there, 
too,  might  be  seen  the  gallant,  but  unfortunate  Essex, 
then  in  the  first  fair  dawn  of  tlie  prosperity  that  for 
years  dazzled  all  beholders,  and  made  him  the 
envy  of  that  brilliant  court ;    many  another  star  of 


\" 


TuE   FORTUNBS   OF    AN    IrISII   CllIKr. 


149 


equal  magnitude,  whose  light  still  illumines  the 
historic  page,  met  there  in  social  converse,  but 
amongst  them  all  Avas  none  whose  company  had 
such  a  charm  for  Florence  MacCarth y,  as  the  young 
and  gifted  Raleigli,  a  "  bookish  "  man  like  himself, 
a  traveler,  and  a  poet. 

Kaleigli  found  in  tlie  young  Irish  chieftain  as 
ardent  a  lover  as  lie  was  himself  of  the  classic  litera- 
ture of  that  Augustan  age  of  England,  but  Florence 
found  not  in  llaleigh, — how  could  he  find  in  the  gay 
English  cavalier,  the  brilliant  satellite  of  Elizabeth, 
— that  passionate  love  for  the  an(;ient  days  and  the 
ancient  records  that  was  one  of  his  own  strongest 
characteristics.  Still  there  was  enough  of  similarity 
between  the  two  to  beget  friendship,  and  a  close  and 
lasting  friendship,  too,  such  as  was  little  to  be  ex- 
pected between  the  son  of  a  Geraldine  lady  and  the 
English  possessor  of  thousands  and  thousani^  of 
acres  of  confiscated  Geraldine  lands.  There  was,  in 
truth,  a  fascination  in  Raleigh's  graceful  manners, 
and  soul-lit  eyes  that  few  could  resist,  and  as  fo' 
Florence  MacCarthy,  no  man  of  his  time  was  more 
wondrously  endowed  with  the  power  of  winning 
hearts.  In  many  a  trying  hour  of  his  strange  life 
the  charm  of  his  person  and  manners,  helped  hira 
through  the  difficulties  which  interested  foes  had 
raised  around  him,  and  the  strange  turns  his  way- 
ward fortunes  took  at  times  were  often  due  to  that 
alone. 

Lady  Ellen  MacCarthy,  hjindsoine,  and  young  and 


V 


-m^' 


'k 


150 


MacCarthy  More;  or, 


i 


noble  as  she  was,  attracted  less  attention  amongst 
those  eminent  personages  than  her  husband. 
Others  there  were  as  fair  and  yonng  as  she,  and 
apart  from  her  youth  and  beauty,  there  yras  little  to 
distinguish  her  from  the  ladies  of  her  own  age, 
whose  presence  gave  added  grace  to  the  brilliant 
circle  at  Ormond  House.  Unfortunately  for  herself, 
however,  she  entered  with  more  ardor  than  did  her 
husband  into  the  spirit  of  the  gay  scenes,  which  for 
her,  at  least,  had  the  perilous  charm  of  novelty.  The 
words  of  praise  whispered  in  her  ear  by  the  gay 
gallants  who  hovered  about  the  court,  like  butterflies 
in  the  sunshine,  made  her  heart  flutter  and  her  cheek 
glow,  while  awaking  within  her  the  spirit  of  vanity, 
which  had  hitherto  lain  dormant  in  her  nature.  She 
still  loved  her  husband,  because  she  was  proud  of  his 
fine  person  and  polished  manners,  and  because 
she  looked  forward  with  hoj^e  to  the  day  when  he 
should  take  his  rightful  place  amongst  the  great 
lords  of  Ireland.  Of  the  deep  current  of  his 
inner  life  she  knew  as  little  as  she  did  of  the  lofty 
dreams  that  buoyed  his  spirit  up  when  the  clouds 
were  darkest  around  and  above  him. 

Amongst  the  few  visitors,  and  they  we:.e  very  fe\,% 
who  were  admitted  to  the  privacy  of  Florence  Mi.c- 
Carthy's  lodgings,  was  a  singular  looking  personage, 
whose  exaggerated  style  of  dress  denoted  the  gayest 
fopling  of  the  court,  whereas,  hie  dark,  earnest  eyes, 
and  grave  deportment, were  more  becoming  a  monk's 
habit.     Yet  to  hear  Master  Wandesford  (as  he  was 


Tnn  FoRTUNBs  OF  AN  Irisii  Chikf. 


151 


called),  conversing  with  any  chance  visitor  whora.  he 
liappened  to  meet,  there  was  full  little  of  gravity  in 
his  speech.  Then,  indeed,  liis  conversation  was  al- 
most as  gay  and  frivolous  as  his  showy  costume. 

But  it  so  happened  that  when  MasterWandesford 
was  alone  with  Florence  and  his  wife,  his  manner  and 
his  discourse  were  in  singular  contrast  with  his  fino 
dress.  Grave,  earnest,  and  at  times  commanding,  he 
spoke  with  the  air  of  one  in  authority,  and  was  al- 
ways treated,  both  by  husband  and  wife,  with  respect 
that  amounted  to  reverence.  There  were  times  when 
he  and  Florence  talked  long  and  earnestly  in  Spanish, 
so  that  even  Lady  Ellen  could  not  understand  what 
they  said,  nor  did  that  give  the  young  lady  much  con- 
cern, when  assured  by  her  husband  that  their  dis- 
course v/as  on  dry  and  tedious  subjects,  that  could 
have  no  interest  for  her.  These  subjects,  whatever 
they  might  be,  were  always  discussed  in  the  lowest 
possible  tone  of  voice,  which  gave  Lady  Ellen  no 
surprise,  for  she  knew,  and  every  one  knew,  that  the 
sound  of  the  noble  Spanish  tongue  might  not  bo 
heard  in  that  day  so  near  the  court  of  Elizabeth 
Tudor. 

There  were  other  times,  however,  when  wife  or 
husband  was  left  alone  with  this  very  singular  gen- 
tleman, a  watch  being  kept,  meanwhile,  on  the  outer 
door,  and  also  on  that  of  the  small  apartment  where 
these  mysterious  interviews  were  held.  Even  tho 
good  woman  of  the  house,  a  grave  and  sober  widow, 
of  some  three-score  years,  was  seen  in  such  secret 


:fliii!^l!:i'ffl'ysiiiUi,.j,'.v'iaiJii.a;g 


152 


MacCarthy  More;  or, 


conference  witli  the  gaily  bedizened  and  somewhat 
martial-looking  visitor  of  Master  Florence  MacCar- 
thy. Stranger,  still,  Una  O'Leary  and  the  serving 
men  from  Carbery,  Avho  waited  on  the  nephew  of 
MacCarthy  lleagh,  and  his  lady-wife,  were  occasion- 
ally admitted  to  the  presence  of  this  brilliant  cava- 
lier, and  left  in  turn  to  the  same  private  communing 
with  him. 

Strange  it  was,  and  yet,  to  those  concerned,  as 
natural  as  could  be.  It  was  the  times  that  were 
strange,  and  drove  men  and  women  to  strange  devi- 
ces. To  Catholics  of  that  day,  in  England,  and  even 
in  Ireland,  it  was  neither  strange  nor  uncommon  to 
kneel  and  confess  their  sins  to  men  in  the  most  fan- 
tastic costumes, — now  a  dashing  cavalier,  with 
bearded  lip  and  plumed  hat, — now  a  country 
bumpkin,  or  a  town  artizan, — now  a  grave  puritani- 
cal minister, — a  Calvinist,  perhaps,  to  all  appearance, 
— and  again,  a  traveling  merchant,  or  even  a  wan- 
dering minstrel.  When  a  price,  and  a  high  price, 
was  set  on  the  head  of  a  priest, — when  not  only  his 
own  life,  but  what  was  of  far  more  importance  in  the 
eyes  of  those  faithful  ministers  of  the  old  religion, 
the  spiritual  aids  and  comforts  of  the  persecuted 
Catholics,  were  at  stake,  it  behoved  those  ecclesi- 
astics who  ventured  to  remain  in  the  British  domin- 
nions  to  assume  such  disguises  as  were  most  incom- 
patible with  their  sacred  calling,  and,  therefore,  less 
likely  to  be  penetrated  by  the  piercing  eye  of  big- 
ptrv  or  cupidity. 


\ 


The  Fortunes  of  an  Ibtsu  Cuief. 


153 


This  being  premised,  for  the  information  of  such 
of  our  readers  as  have  made  no  particular  study  of 
the  sab-strata  of  the  history  of  those  days,  it  is  easy 
to  divine  that  this  mysterious  visitor  of  Florence 
MacCarthy's  was  a  priest.  But  even  they  who 
guessed  so  much  of  tlie  truth,  may  find  it  difficult 
to  realize  the  fact  that  the  gentleman,  the  plumed 
and  bearded  cavalier  in  slashed  doublet  and  silken 
hose,  was  not  only  a  priest  but  a  Jesuit,  and  a  cele- 
brated Jesuit,  too,  the  renowned  Father  Archer, 
whose  name  is  so  honorably  interwoven  with  the 
Catholic  struggles  for  freedom  of  conscience,  in  the 
British  Islands,  in  the  latter  half  of  Elizabeth's 
reign.* 

The  occasional  society  of  this  eminent  scholar 
and  devoted  missionary  was  one  of  the  chief  enjoy- 
ments of  the  learned  and  accomplished  chieftain  of 
Carbery.  His  wife  neither  could  nor  did  participate 
in  the  high  intellectual  pleasure  of  their  conversa- 
tion, when  it  turned  on  ancient  lore,  sacred  or  pro- 
fane ;  and  when  they  came  to  speak  on  subjects  of 
more  immediate  and  absorbing  interest,  she  was  nev- 
er present,  her  excessive  timidity  having  more  than 
once  betrayed  itself  in  a  way  that  alarmed  her  hus- 
band, when  even  a  casual  allusion  was  made  to  the 
secret  hopes  and  plans  of  the  oppressed  Catholics. 

*  A  little  later  than  this,  when  Florence's  enemies  were  raking 
up  all  imaiiinable  and  uniniajrinable  "  mi^deTncjanors"  whereof  to 
aecuse  him,  it  was  one  of  the  i2;rave  charg'es  brought  atrainst  luiii 
— and  witnesses  were  even  siiibomed  to  prove  it— tliat  lie  was  in 
the  haliitof  roeeivinu:  visits  from  tl>e  "pestiferous  Jesuit,  iNrclK-r, 
and  other  such  deadly  eueniiosof  UieQ^iecn,  in  eundrydisguir-ua." 


y  iWlp 


HWHHIW 


*W* 


! 


154 


MacCarthy  More;  or, 


This  nervous  fear  of  giving  olFcnce  to  the  ruling 
powers  so  grew  upon  her  that  she  came,  after  a  very- 
little  while,  to  dread  the  visits  of  Father  Archer, 
knowing  that  the  discovery  of  their  intercourse  with 
hitn  would  he  hopeless  ruin  to  her  husband,  and 
herself;  perhaps  even  death.  Glad  and  thankful  as 
slie  was  for  the  opportunities  they  afforded  them  all 
of  occasionally  receiving  the  sacraments,  yet  her 
fears  so  overmastered  all  other  feelings,  that  Flor- 
ence was  at  length  forced  to  request  the  good  Fa- 
ther to  come  no  more  to  their  lodgings,  unless  when 
sent  for. 

"  We  can  meet  elsewhere,"  said  he,  "  Master  Wan- 
desford," — even  in  their  most  private  converse  the 
word  father  was  seldom  used  by  Florence — never, 
indeed,  except  in  confession,  being  far  too  dangerous 
for  unnecessary  use. — "  We  can  meet  elsewhere, — 
at  Master  South  well's  in  tlie  Strand,  or  the  Widow 
Smith  wick's,  belike,  near  Temple-bar,  so  long  as  you 
and  I  remain  in  London,  the  which,  for  one  of  us, 
at  least,  I  pray  God  may  not  be  long." 

"  I  am  well  content  that  it  be  so.  Master  Florence ;" 
said  the  honest  burgher,  for  such  was,  at  the  time. 
Father  Archer's  outward  semblance ;  "  I  have  noted 
your  lady's  fears  with  much  concern,  and  would  fain 
ease  her  mind  by  absenting  myself  from  this  house. 
In  her  present  state  it  behooveth  you,  ray  son  and 
dear  friend,  to  see  that  she  have  as  little  disquietude 
as  may  be." 

"  The  more  bo,  good  master,"  said  Florence  drop 


i 


Thk  Foktunes  of  an  Irish  Chief. 


155 


ping  his  voice  almost  to  a  whisper,  his  cheek  flush- 
ing and  his  eye  kindling  with  a  new  and  strong  emo* 
tion, — "  the  more  so,  that  if  she  were  once  a  mother, 
and  the  mother  of  a  son,  it  would  spite  some  we 
know^,  and  put  certain  "  rights"  we  wot  of  in  more 
imminent  pen,   ' 

"  Talk  not  so,  my  son !  talk  not  so,"  said  the  sup- 
posed burgher ;  "  leave  those  matters  to  Ilim  who 
ruleth  all, — let  us  to  other  matters.  Touching  that 
letter  of  Don  Dermutio, — write  the  answer  as  soon 
as  may  be,  and  I  w^ill  see  that  it  be  sent  by  a  safe 
hand.  There  is  a  Flemish  vessel  now  in  j)ort  wait- 
ing for  a  fair  wind  to  set  sail.     The  chance  is  a  good 


») 


one. 

"  Surely  yes,  but  the  safe  hand  you  speak  of, — 
know  you  Avell  who  he  is  ?  " 

"  It  were  strange  an'  I  did  not,  my  son, — he  is 
one  of  ours.     No  need  to  mention  names." 

"  I  will  write  the  letter  ere  I  sleep  to-night,  good 
master ! — Where  would  you  that  I  send  it  ?  " 

The  place  was  named,  and  the  visitor  soon  after 
retired.  It  w^as  long  before  the  friends  met  again ; 
eome  sudden  and  secret  orders  reached  Father  Ar- 
cher next  day,  from  his  owm  superiors,  and  the  next 
Florence  heard  of  him  he  was  in  Madrid,  between 
which  capital  and  the  British  and  Irish  cities  years 
of  his  busy  life  were  spent.  The  letter  to  Don  Der- 
mutio Mac  Carthy,  he  delivered  himself  in  the  Span- 
ish metropolis. 

The  reader  may,  perhaps,  denire  to  know  who 


16G 


MacCakthy  Moke;  or, 


this  Don  Dermutio  Mac  Carthy  was,  with  his  Span- 
ish-Irish name.  lie  was  a  cousin  of  Florence  Mao 
Cartliy,  a  zealous  and  devoted  priest,  whose  Irish 
naiTie  of  Derniid  was  made  Dermutio  by  the  Span- 
iards,, during  his  long  residence  amonst  them.  He 
was  for  many  years,  an  active  and  eliicient  agent  of 
the  Irish  Catholics  in  Madrid.  lie  was  much  es- 
teemed by  King  Philip  the  Second,  their  great  pa- 
tron and  true  friend,  a  monarch  whose  name  and 
fame  have  been  blackened  by  Protestant  bigotry, 
precisely  because  of  his  entire  devotion  to  Catholic 
interests,  and  his  stern,  consistent,  uncompromising 
hostility  to  the  new  religion,  which  he  had  himself 
seen  spring  into  existence, — a  monstrous  excrescence 
on  the  Church  of  Christendom.  Looking  back  on 
those  days,  when  the  Irish  portion  of  the  Church 
was  passing  through  the  Ked  Sea  of  persecution,  to 
the  Catholic  student  c  "  history  no  prouder  figure  ap- 
pears than  that  of  the  dark,  stately  husband  of 
Mary  of  England,  by  lying  Protestant  histories  called 
"Bloody  Mary;"  the  Catholic  King^:>«r  excellence^ 
the  nctunwcYthy  son  of  the  great  Emperor  Charles 
the  Fifth, — l*hilip  the  Second  of  Spain  ! 

And  so,  it  is  probable,  thought  his  cotemporary, 
Florence  Mac  Carthy,  a  man  fully  capable  of  esti- 
mating the  great  Catholic  prince  who  alone,  of  al 
the  crowned  heads  of  Catholic  Europe,  Elizabeth 
feared.  None  may  now  tell  how  often  the  figure 
of  that  Spanish  King,  in  his  grand  and  gloomy  pal- 
ace of  the  Escurial,  in  the  mountain  solituie  where 


The  Fortunes  of  an  Irish  Cuikp. 


157 


he  had  built  himself  a  home,  in  aecordance  with  hi^ 
contemplative  mind  and  mortitied  life, — slied  the 
brightness  of  hope  on  the  dark  prison  ( ill  wherein 
many  an  Irish  ;*ldef  was  expiating  the  crime  of  con- 
spiracy against  the  baleful  power  of  the  tyrant 
Elizabeth.  And  none  knew  better  than  Florence 
Mac  Carthy  what  the  persecute  I  Catholics  of  Ire- 
land owed  to  Philip.  None  could  better  appreciate 
the  stern  grandeur  of  his  cliaracter,  the  evangelical 
purity  of  his  life,  his  life-long,  never  changing  devo- 
tion to  Catholic  interests,  than  Florence  Mac  Car- 
thy, the  prisoner  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  the  high-born 
chieftain,  the  lord  of  broad  domains,  reduced  by 
English  Protestant  tyranny,  to  a  condition  in  which 
he  could  hardly  provide  the  common  necessaries 
of  life  for  himself  and  his  delicately  nurtured  wife. 
Whatever  hopes  he  based  on  the  friendly  aid  of  the 
Spanish  monarch,  and  his  own  fertility  of  invention 
and  diplomatic  skill,  were,  indeed,  sorelj'-  needed  to 
keep  him  from,  utter  despondency.  Day  by  day  his 
affairs  were  assuming  a  more  desperate  aspect. 
From  the  confusion  and  neglect  folio  win  o;  his  lonjr 
absence  from  Ireland,  now  fully  three  years,  his  re- 
mittances became  less  and  less  as  time  rolled  on ; 
even  for  that  little  he  was  indebted  to  the  active  ex- 
ertions of  his  only  brother,  Dermod,  his  junior  by 
some  years,  who  was  devotedly  attached  to  him. 
One  by  one,  Florence  was  forced  to  dismiss  the  few 
attendants  whom  alone  he  had  retained  ;  only  Una 
O'Leary,  and  one  of  his  own  serving-raen  were  all 


158 


MacCartiiy  More;  or, 


;    : 


that  now  remained,  and  even  tliis  poor  retinue  their 
master  found  it  hard  to  support.  He  had  even 
raised  mortgages  on  some  of  his  [ands,  still  lioping 
that  tlie  day  might  soon  eome  when,  restored  to 
home  and  freedom,  lie  could  retrieve  his  fast- 
breaking  fortunes. 

Vain,  alas  !  his  hopes  ! — jMontli  followed  montli, 
and  matters  grew  worse  instead  of  better.  Florence 
was  still  a  prisoner,  notwithstanding  his  earnest  pe- 
tition to  the  Queen, — less  and  less  grew  the  remit- 
tances from  ruined  Ireland,  and  the  temporary  ex- 
pedients, whereby  the  harassed  chieftain  had  hith- 
erto eked  them  out,  began  at  last  to  fail ;  he  could 
not  go  on  mortgaging  for  ever,  and  he  had  borrowed 
so  often  that  he  had  well  nigh  exhausted  that  wretch- 
ed source  of  supply.  To  crown  his  misery  he  saw  his 
cheiished  wife  pining,  day  by  day,  pining  like  a 
prisoned  dove,  for  air  and  sunshine,  for  her  own  free 
hills  and  streams,  and.  the  world  of  beauty  that  lay 
around  her  ancestral  home.  Debarred  by  her  pre- 
sent condition  from  appearing  at  court,  or  visiting 
the  few  friends  she  had  in  London,  Lady  Ellen  w^as 
virtually  a  prisoner  in  the  heart  of  smoky  London. 
This  restraint  anvl  the  many  inconveniences  to  ^  ''ii( 
she  was  subjected  were  trying  enough  to  tL  I's 

daughter,  and  truth  to  tell,  she  felt  them  ,        but 
worse  than  all  was  the  separation  from  her  mo>  aer 
even  when  a  mother's  loving  care  was  most  needed. 
Under  such  circumstances  it  is  not  strange  that  the 
young  lady  became  more  petulant  and  more  irrita* 


Tub  Foktunks  of  an  Irisu  Chikf.  159 

ble  day  by  day ;  her  mind  was  not  of  that  clastic 
kind  that  springs  up  from  under  the  pressure  of  dif- 
ficulties, and  shines  the  brightest  when  clouds  are 
dark  around ;  Lady  Ellen  not  only  felt  her  trials  and 
troubles  and  humilitions  but  she  made  others  feel 
that  she  did  so.  Even  the  husband  that  she  still 
loved,  with  all  the  fervor  that  was  in  her  nature,  was 
made  to  feel  at  times  the  cliects  of  her  increasing 
petulance. 

Any  other  than  Florence  MacCarthy  would  have 
sunk  into  hopeless  despondency  under  such  accumu- 
lated trials.  Stout  and  brave  as  his  heart  was,  and 
great  iiis  faith  in  the  future,  he  found  the  load  almost 
too  heavy  for  liis  shoulders,  strong  and  broad  as 
they  were.  With  an  elegant  poet  of  our  day  he 
might  have  said : — 

My  heart  is  hot  and  restless, 

And  my  life  is  full  of  care, 
And  the  burden  laid  upon  me, 

Seems  greater  than  I  can  bear." 

But  dark  and  dreary  as  were  the  clouds  around 
him,  and  weary  as  he  might  well  have  been  of  life, 
his  pale  cheek  glowed,  and  his  eye  flashed  with  a 
joyous  light  when  word  was  brought  him  in  the 
lonely  study-room,  where  many  of  his  hours  were 
passed,  that  a  child  was  born  to  him. 

He  hurried  to  his  wife's  bedside — he  stooped  to 
kiss  her  pallid  brow,  and  heard  her  whisper,  with 
her  own  old  smile  of  love  and  hope,  "  Florence  you 
have  a  son  I "    The  babe  was  placed  in  his  aims  by 


iljiii 


.*v    •'' 


'Vu^. 


160 


MacGarthy  More;  or, 


the.  delighted  Una,  and  while  thanking  God  in 
his  inmost  heart  for  tho  safety  of  mother  and  child, 
a  world  of  light,  and  hope,  and  joy  broke  on  his 
darkened  spirit.  Tlie  woes  of  imprisonment,  the 
weariness  of  exile,  the  hai-assing  cares  that  made 
life  a  burden,, — all  were  forgotten,  as  the  young 
father  gazed  on  the  faco  of  the  unconscious  babe 
who  might  some  day  rule  the  half  of  Munstcr,  the 
future  Earl  of  Claacarthy ! — Ilis  heart  was  full,  too 
full  for  utterance, — silently  and  tenderly  he  laid  the 
infant  on  the  mother's  bosom,  and  went  to  induloe, 
unseen  of  any,  the  new  and  delightful  emotions  that 
filled  his  heart. 


..J^^' 


I 


I 


I 


Tub  Fortunes  op  an  Ikish  Chief. 


161 


CIIAPTE]?.  X. 

Very  humble  was  the  London  lodscins:  in  which 
tliis  young  son  of  Florence  MacCarthy  entered  on  the 
stage  of  life  ;  no  pomp  surrounded  the  cradle  of  tho 
infant  heir  of  Desmond  and  of  Carbery  ;  no  trumpet 
sounded,  no  lierald  proclaimed  tliat  a  grandson  was 
born  to  the  Earl  of  Clancarthy.  the  hcnd  of  a  princely 
Sept  ! — In  poverty  and  obscirity  his  life  began, 
whatever  its  after  course  might  be.  Sad  as  this  was 
to  the  young  parents,  and  keenly  as  they  felt  it,  they 
welcomed  the  young  stranger  none  the  less  joyously, 
and  in  due  time  Florence  succeeded  in  findinor  a 
priest  to  baptize  him.  They  gave  him  his  grand- 
father's name,  Donald,  and  lovingly  committed  him- 
self and  liis  fortunes  to  the  Providence  of  the  future. 

It  was  autumn  tlien  ;  autumn  in  the  fields,  in  the 
woods,  and  in  the  orchards, — autumn  wherever  nature 
reigned,  but  alas !  little  of  the  autumn  glories  reached 
Lady  Ellen  MacCarthy  in  the  dull  London  chamber 
where  she  spent  her  hours  of  convalescence,  nursing 
]ier  infant  son,  or  Florence  in  the  poor  little  room 
where  he  sat  with  the  few  books  he  had  sent  for  to 
Ireland,  and  others  that  Raleigh  had  given  him, 
pondering  over  the  past  of  his  race  and  country,  and 
his  own  bright  dreams  for  both,  all  the  more  fondly 
cherished  that  they  were  nourished  in  silence  and  in 
solitude,  under  the  penalty  of  death  for  treason — 


5^  i 

jih 

I 'A  4 

\ 


162 


MacCarthy  More 


;  OR, 


against  the  Protestant  Queen  of  England.  Ho-w 
the  foil*  young  mother  welcomed  the  rich,  rnellcw  sun* 
beam, — all  the  more  precious  for  being  rare, — that  fell 
on  the  face  of  her  sleeping  babe — as  it  lay  on  lier 
knee,  thinking  the  while  how  lovely  was  earth  and  sky, 
that  day,  around  her  childhood's  home ! — And  how 
Florence,  seeing  it  come  struggling  ouo  through  the 
dull  London  fog,  started  from  his  old-world  dreams 
and  remembered  that  he  had  been  awaiting  a  fine 
hour  to  go  to  Greenwich  Palace  to  petition  the  Queen, 
for  the  hundredth  time,  to  allow  him,  of  her  great 
clemency,  to  return  to  his  country  ! — That  autumn 
sun  was  gilding  many  a  stately  castle  that  called 
him  lord,  and  many  a  green  hill-side,  where  his  clans- 
men roamed  at  will,  in  his  own  fair  land  beyond  the 
sea.  Yet  for  him, — and  the  thought  brought  a 
smile  of  unwonted  bitterness  to  his  face, — for  him, 
he  dared  not  have  set  foot  beyond  the  threshold  of 
his  temporary  dwelling  had  he  not  obtained,  through 
Lord  Burleigh,  a  protection  from  the  Queen,  forbid- 
ding his  creditors  to  n»olest  him.  Ilis  creditors ! 
Yes,  it  was  even  so, — poorly  as  he  and  his  wife  lived, 
with  Una  as  their  only  permanent  attendant,  of  late 
days,  his  resources,  ample  as  they  were,  had  at 
length  utterly  failed;  even  the  devoted  exertions  of 
his  brother  could  no  longer  raise  money  for  his  ex- 
penses in  London  from  amongst  the  host  of  robbers 
who  were  seiirng,  day  by  day,  on  the  rich  plains  of 
Carbery.  Time  was  gliding  by — already  had  Flor- 
ence been  some  six  years  in  captivity,  between  Cork, 


■■M 


Mm— MM 


Thk  Fortunes  op  an  Irish  Chief. 


163 


Dublin  and  l^ondon, — with  so  many  powerful  ene- 
mies, all  selfishly  interested  in  his  prolonged  im- 
prisonraent, — with  his  estates  divided  piecemeal 
amongst  English  adventurers,  even  some  of  his  own 
kindred  having  helped  themselves  to  a  slice, — with, 
nothing  to  expect  from  his  father-in-law,  whose  disso 
lute  habits  left  him  nothing  to  spare  for  the  calls  of 
duty  and  affection,  unable  longer  to  obtain  money 
by  mortgage  on  lands  which  were  actually  in  the 
j'ossession  of  others, — even  the  professional  money- 
lenders from  whom  he  had  been  raising  funds  at 
ruinous  rates  of  usury,  were  unwilling  to  make 
further  advances,  aad  the  few  friends  who  had  been 
aidiuGf  him  with  loans  beinij  as  tired  of  lendincr  as 
he  was  of  borrowing, — well  mi<T;ht  Florence  Mac- 
Carthy  shrink  from  going  abroad  in  the  dingy  streets 
of  London,  where  the  name  of  his  creditors  was 
legion ! 

By  a  great  stretch  of  Elizabeth's  bounty,  his  sad 
com])laints  of  poverty  and  debt  obtained  the  protec- 
tion above  referred  to,  so  that  he  could  come  and 
go  within  the  limits  of  his  leave,  as  his  occasions 
required,  without  fear  of  being  arrested  and  thrown 
into  a  prison  worse  than  the  Tower.  In  this  way 
the  harassed  son-in-law  of  the  Earl  of  Clancarthy 
was  enabled  to  go  in  person  from  time  to  time  to 
renew  his  endless  petitioning  at  court  either  for  leave 
"to  go  into  Ireland,"  or  for  some  pecuniary  grant 
that  would  give  him  and  his  lady- wife  the  means  ot 
support.     Other  occupations  he  had  that  kept  him 


if  1^ 


!l' 


'■ 


164 


MacCarthy  Morm;  or, 


II 


for  hours  at  a  time  in  the  vicinity  of  the  Inns  of  Court, 
where  he  might  be  seen  some  part  of  almost  every 
day  in  earnest  conversation  Avith  some  one  or  other 
of  the  young  Irish  lawyers  who  were,  even  then, 
prosecuting  their  studies  within  the  time-honored 
walls  of  either  Temj^le  or  "  the  Inns."*  The  in- 
creasing difficulties  of  his  position,  and  the  manifold 
complications  of  his  affairs  necessarily  drove  him  for 
counsel  to  those  lawyers  who,  being  of  his  own 
country  and  his  own  religion,  took  an  interest  in  liis 
affairs,  and  were  willing  to  give  him  the  benefit  of 
their  legal  knowledge  for  friendship's  sake.  It  was, 
indeed,  one  of  the  peculiarities  of  Florence's  strange 
career  that  much  of  his  time  was  spent  in  the  com- 
pany of  lawyers  and  "  law-students  !"  Like  some 
stately  deer  of  the  Desmond  wilds,  hard  pressed  by 
the  hunters,  year  after  year  of  his  troubled  life,  and 
by  nature  cool  and  wary,  he  was  fain  to  have  recourse 
to  the  wiles  of  the  fox  to  keep  his  enemies  at  bay, 
and  to  save  his  estates  from  the  spoilers. 

No  small  portion,  too,  of  his  days  in  London  were 
spent  in  search  of  the  means  of  existence — what  is 
now  called,  in  vulgar  parlance,  "  raising  the  wind." 

Such  was  the  life  of  Florence  MacCarthy  when 
he  one  day  entered  the  room  where  Lady  Ellen  sat.^ 
' — pale  and  pensive,  watching  the  last  rays  of  the 


*  There  exists  amongst  the  State  Papers  a  list  of  "  The  names 

Irish  gentlemen,  Students  of  Law  m  Gray's  Inn,"  which  ia 

re>»(lly  conjectured  by  the  learned  biv^grapher  of  Flonuice  Mac- 


Of 

Carthy  to  liave  been  made  out  at  some  period  of  his  long  imprison- 
ment in  connection  with  the  charges  that  were  forever  heinji; 
trumped  against  him. 


- 


The  Foetunbs  of  an  Ir^su  Cuikp. 


165 


18 


' 


\Tintry  sun  as  they  faded  away  into  the  evening 
shadows.  She  looked  hiiiguidly  up,  as  her  husband 
entered,  hut  there  was  something  in  liis  face  that  in- 
stantly changed  the  expression  of  hers. 

"  You  have  had  tidings,  Florence !"  she  cried, 
bounding  forward  with  the  eagerness  of  youth — 
''  what  of  my  mother  ?" 

"  ISTought  of  your  mother,  but  somewhat  of  my 
good  uncle,  Sir  Owen  MacCarthy." 

"  And  what  of  him  ?"  she  said,  in  the  careless  tono 
of  one  who  felt  nowise  interested  in  the  answer. 

"  He  is  dead." 

"  Poor  Sir  Owen  ! — Peace  to  his  soul ! — Heard  you 
aught  besides  ?" 

"  Nay,  methinks  that  were-  enough,"  said  Flor- 
ence, his  cheek  flushing  with  anger;  "he  was  ever 
my  very  good  friend,  and  could  he  but  have  had  his 
way,  my  cousin,  Donald  Pipi,  would  not  be  Mac- 
Carthy Keagh,  as  he  is  this  day." 

"  Donal  Pipi, — the  Tanist — then  who  is  Tanist 
now  of  that  country  ?"  said  Lady  Ellen  in  the  same 
listless  tone. 

"  Truly  your  memory  is  but  i^hort.  Dame  Ellen !" 
said  her  husband,  coldly, — "  else  you  need  not  ask 
the  question.  I  marvel  much  that  you  are  so  oblivi- 
ous in  such  matters." 

The  pale  face  of  the  young  wife  lit  up  with  sudden 
animation ;  she  started  as  it  were  from  a  lethai'gy, 
and  fixed  her  flashing  eyes  on  her  husband's  face  j 
"  Florence  1  you  are  the  Tanist !" 


Mil 


s! 


t  'fJ 


t  ' . 


*i,'^^ 


\\ 


166 


MacCartiiy  More;  or, 


"  It  is  even  so,  Ellen  !"  said  Florence,  gloomily ; 
"  I  am  Tanist  now  of  MacCarthy  Reagli's  country, 
but  full  dearly  hath  the  honor  cost  me,  an'  the  old 
saying  be  true  that  a  trusty  friend  is  hard  to  find. 
I  have  lost  one,  and  little  have  I  gained  so  long  as 
mine  enemies  hold  my  lands,  and  the  Queen  my  body." 

"  Natheless,"  said  his  wife,  cheerily,  "  it  is  worth 
the  wishing  for,  to  stand  next  to  the  rod  of  Mac- 
Carthy Reagh."* 

"  A  little  money  were  better  worth  wishing  for  at 
this  present,"  said  Florence,  with  a  bitter  smile. 
<*An'  we  might  live  on  names  and  titles,  we  need 
not  want  now.  I  fear,  sweet  wife,  the  Tanist  of 
MacCarthy  lleagh's  country  wall  find  it  no  easier 
to  provide  what  is  needful  for  himself  and  others, 
than  the  lord  of  fair  Carbery,  or  the  son-in-law  of 
MacCarthy  More.  But  cheer  thee,  Aileen !  I  have 
•better  news  for  thee — I  met  a  gentleman  from  Cork 
to-day  who  advanced  me  some  few  pounds  that  will 
keep  us  a  little  longer, — perchance,  till  I  have  leave 
to  return  home." 

In  her  joy  at  hearing  of  the  money  they  so  sorely 
needed,  Lady  Ellen  heeded  not  the  cold  smile,  or  the 
bitter  tone  that  gave  strange  significance  to  Flor- 
ence's words.  Indeed,  there  was  often  a  hidden 
meaning  in  his  words  and  in  his  looks  that  the  young 
wife  could  not  fathom,  and  perchance,  would  not,  if 
she  could. 

*  The  Rod  liere  meant  was  the  Waud  of  Sovereignty  amongst 
Che  Celtic  Irish. 


i 


Tub  Fortunes  of  an  Irish  Chief. 


167 


/ 


Alone  with  liis  books  that  evening,  Florence  Mac- 
Carthy  was  a  different  man.  There  was  a  light  in 
his  eyes  and  a  flusli  on  his  cheeks  that  told  of  burn- 
ing thoughts  ■'vithin.  A  book  lay  open  before  him. 
but  he  was  not  readincr.  Ilis  ever-active  mind  was 
hard  at  work  on  some  aerial  fabric  that  appeared  to 
please  him  exceedingly. 

"  Lord  of  Carbery,"  he  murmured  low, — "  Tanist 
of  MacCarthy  lieagh's  country, — son-in-law,  and, 
therefore  (failing  male  issue),  if  not  the  natural,  at 
least  th3  probable  heir  of  MacCarthy  More,  in  virtue 
of  his  hereditary,  though  new-made  title  of  Earl  of 
Clancarthy, — what  is  to  prevent  me,  were  I  back  in 
Munster,  from  taking  the  first  place  amongst  the 
lords  of  tlie  old  race  ? — And  then — with  the  promised 
aid  from  beyond  seas — and  the  rising  in  the  North 
that  may  any  day  be  looked  for — ,"  he  paused — the 
fire  of  his  old  Spanish  blood  flashed  brighter  still 
from  his  kindling  eyes — his  whole  frame  trembled 
with  the  electric  thought  that  shot  through  his  veins, 
— he  stood  up  in  the  strength  and  pride  of  his  noble 
manhood,  reared  his  tall  form  to  its  grandest  height, — 
then  muttered, — as  it  Avere,  hissed,  between  his  teeth, 
— "  Then,  Elizabeth  Tudor,  look  to  thy  hold  on  thy 
*  realm  of  Ireland,'  and  thy  '  rights  of  reversion '  to 
Irish  lands ! — The  day  may  come,  proud  Queen  I 
when  Irish  lords  and  gentlemen  may  marry  and  give 
in  marriage  without  leave  of  thine, — ay  !  and  prac- 
tice *  Popish  rites,'  without  fear  of  thy  penal  laws  I" 
*  *  *  ^  *  If 


If, 


(i! 


■i4l 


Vi 


m 


ft 


0 


t    1 1 


'ItA 


\ 


168 


MacCartuy  Mork;  or, 


1 

! 


The  long  dark  winter  had  passed  away,  and  the 
Btorray  winds  of  March  were  waking  the  sleeping 
earth  to  Spring's  first  life.  The  woods  around 
Killarney  were  already  tinted  with  the  faint  green 
which  in  the  genial  climate  of  Ireland  comes  with 
the  latter  days  of  March,  when  the  winds  have  sunk 
to  rest  in  the  lap  of  Spring  and  Nature  begins  to 
smile  in  the  sun's  vernal  rays.f  In  and  around  Pallice 
Castle  there  was  joy,  for  the  young  daughter  of 
MacCarthy  More  was  back  again  in  her  native  halls 
and  with  her  a  babe  of  beauty,  around  whose  cradle 
the  hearts  of  the  men  of  Desmond  gathered  as  a 
sacred  shrine.  Even  the  reckless  Earl  of  Clancarthy 
was  softened  to  human  love  and  kindness,  and 
breathed  an  unwonted  prayer  of  gratitude  to  heaven, 
as  he  bent  over  the  first-born  of  his  daus^hter,  the 
heir  of  his  Earldom,  by  English  law,  and  his  probable 
successor  in  the  chieftainship. 

There  was  one  thought,  however,  that  troubled  the 
now  aged  nobleman  then  and  after, — so  much  of  his 
lands  had  passed  into  the  hands  of  the  Browns, 
when  he  little  hoped  to  have  an  heir  male  of  his 
own  blood !  Tliis  was  a  bitter  and  a  mortifying  re- 
collection, and,  truth  to  tell.  Earl  Donald,  never 
remarkable  for  patience,  cursed  his  own  folly  many 
a  time,  now  that  kind  Heaven  had  sent  him  an  heir 
in  whose  veins  was  none  but  the  purest  blood  in 
Munster. 

t  March  comes  in  like  the  lian,  and  goes  out  like  the  lamb^  is  o  com< 
mon  saying  in  Ireland. 


y 


Tub  Fortunes  op  an  Irish  Cuiff. 


169 


» 


But  little  cared  the  Countess  Ilonora  as  she  pressed 
to  her  heart  the  child  who  came  to  bless  and  cheer 
her  declining  age, — the  child  in  whose  infant  feat\uv;^ 
her  fancy  already  traced  a  resemblance  to  her  own 
son,  so  early  lost,  so  fondly  remembered, — the  eliild 
who  was  to  fill  the  vacant  place  in  her  heart,  as  in 
the  family  Iionors  and  possessions.  By  all  the  re- 
tainers and  clansmen  of  that  country  the  new  arrival 
was  hailed  with  unbounded  delight;  it  seemed  as 
though  the  young  Baron  of  Valentia  had  come  l)ack 
from  the  grave,  and  the  elder  line  of  the  Mac- 
Carthys  was  not,  after  all,  to  perish  out  of  the  land. 

Joy  reigned  in  Desmond  of  the  jNIacCarthys,  in 
castle  and  in  shieling ;  even  the  gloom  of  poverty 
that  shrouded  the  country  as  a  pall,  gave  way  for 
the  time  to  the  brightness  of  hope,  easily  lit,  and  as 
easily  quenched,  in  th.'  light  Celtic  nature.  Truly 
might  those  clansmen  of  Desmond  have  sung  with 
the  national  bard  of  centuries  later : 


'1 


m 
I'll 


? 


"  Tho'  dark  are  our  sorrows,  to-da}'  we'll  forget  them, 
And  smile  thro'  our  tear.:*,  like  a  sunbeam  in  showers, 
There  never  were  hearts,  if  our  rulers  would  let  them, 
More  forra'd  to  be  grateful  and  blest  than  ours." 

There  was  joy,  too,  in  fiiir  Carbery* — whose  peo- 
ple although  "  protected  "  in  their  several  holdings, 
suffered  in  many  ways  from  their  lord's  imprison- 
ment. They  saw  cause  for  ho])e,  not  only  in  the 
birth  of  an  heir  to  their  well-beloved  lord,  but  in 
the  permission  given  his  wife  to  return  with  her  son 
to  Ireland.     Amongst  all  the  MacCarthys  and  their 


■  M' 


■  i  i  ■ 
;■  ^■■ 

■ ;  t 


i 


170 


MacCarthy  Moiir;  or, 


vast  connections,  indeed,  through  all  the  great 
Irish  houses  of  Munstcr,  the  news  was  hailed  with 
delight  that  the  young  heir  of  Clan  Carthy  was  safe 
in  Ireland  with  his  mother.  The  news  of  the  child's 
birth  had  been  welcomed  with  joy  amongst  the 
chieftains  of  the  old  race,  who  exulted  in  the 
thought  that  the  English  Queen  would  thereby  lose 
her  "  right  of  reversion  "  to  the  broad  Earldom.  So 
long  as  the  young  baron  was  in  England  they  had 
feared  that  his  life  might  be  secretly  sacrificed  to 
Elizabeth's  cupidity,  hence  the  general  joy  amongst 
the  Catholic  lords  and  chiefs  when  Lady  Ellen  Mac- 
Carthy  arrived  in  Munster  with  her  son. 

Very  diiferent,  as  may  be  supposed,  were  the  feel- 
ings with  which  the  English  undertakers  and  the  Eng- 
lish officials, — themselves  undertakers  on  the  larg- 
est scale, — regarded  the  event.  Letters  are  found 
among  the  English  State  Papers  from  Sir  Geoffry  Fen- 
ton,  the  Queen's  Bishop  of  Cork,  and  others,  complain- 
ing of  the  honors  paid  in  Munster  to  Florence  MacCar- 
thy's  son.  "  Here  is  a  young  child  of  Fineen  MacCar- 
tie's,"  wrote  the  dignitary  just  mentioned, — "who, 
after  this  country  manner,  is  used  among  the  people 
as  a  young  prince,  carried  about  the  country  with 
three  nurses,  and  six  horsemen,  when  he  removeth 
to  any  place ;  and  happy  is  he  that  can  have  him  to 
foster  for  a  month !  and  so  from  month  to  month,  to 
the  best  of  the  country  to  be  fostered,  wdth  such 
songs  of  rejoicing  in  the  praise  of  his  father,  Fineen, 
and  the  young  Imp^  that  it  were  good  his  father,  at 


Tub  Fortunrs  0¥  an  Irish  Cuikv. 


171 


his  coming  over,  should  Lc  looked  into,  which  will  be 
very  shortly,  as  his  cousin,  Donell  McCartie,  which 
came  lately  out  of  England  told  me."* 

From  this  higlily  evangelical  and  Christian-like 
epistle  of  the  dignitary  of  the  Tudor  (^hurch  in  Ire- 
land, we  see,  as  in  a  magic  glass,  the  enthusiastic 
reception  given  to  this  child  of  promise ;  we  can  see 
the  splendor  by  whicli  he  was  surrounded,— -the  care 
ajid  attention  lavished  upon  him, — we  can  hear  the 
"songs  of  rejoicing  in  honor  of  the  child's  father," — 
and  thence  we  can  easily  account,  as  the  worthy 
churchman  did  himself,  for  the  outburst  of  wrath 
the  whole  crew  of  English  robbers  against  "the 
young  Imp,"  and  his  father! — And  the  "Donell 
MacCartie"  who  brout^ht  from  London  the  alarm- 
ing  news  that  there  was  a  likelihood  of  Florence's 
return,  was  himself  one  of  the  worst  enemies  of  boih 
father  and  child.  He  was  no  other  than  Donell 
Pipi,  the  new  MacCarthy  Reagh,  whose  recent  visit 
to  London  had  been  for  the  very  purpose  of  cutting 
off  his  envied  and  hated  kinsman  from  the  suc- 
cession to  the  chieftainship  by  surrendering  his  lands 
to  the  Queen  and  receiving  them  back  from  her,  in 
English  tenure,  by  which  means  his  possessions  would 
go  at  his  death,  to  his  own  children.  For  the  j^resent, 
Donell  found  his  design  impracticable;  his  uncle,  the 
late  MacCarthy  Reagh,  and  other  chiefs  of  the  Sept, 
knowing  his  jealous  dislike  of  his  cousin,  and  fearing 
that  he  might  endeavor  to  change  the  course  of  sue- 
*  Life  and  Letters  of  Florence  MacCortty  More,  p.  88. 


1  i> 


'  i! 


i     Hi 


172 


MacCartoy  More;  or, 


cession  by  adopting  English  tenure,  liad  met  in 
council,  some  years  before  Sir  Ouen's  death,  and 
also  before  Florence's  marriage,  and  bound  Donell, 
under  a  surety  of  £10,000,  "to  leave  the  usage  of 
Tanistry,  as  he  found  it."  So,  Florence  hearing,  as 
he  managed  to  hear  everything,  that  his  cousin,  the 
new  MacCarthy  Reagh,  was  in  London,  at  once  di- 
vined the  object  he  had  in  view,  and  in  the  course  of 
a  short  visit,  apparently  of  courtesy  and  respect, 
gave  Donell  to  understand  that  in  case  he  attempted 
to  interfere  with  his  right  to  the  title  and  lordship  of 
MacCarthy  lieagh,  he  would  make  him  pay  the 
£10,000  to  the  last  farthing, — and  moreover,  he 
warned  him,  with  that  calm  earnestness  of  *nanner 
which  gave  such  weight  to  all  his  words,  that  he 
would  tind  his  attempt  useless,  for  he  had  friends  at 
Court  who  would  see  no  such  injustice  done  him. 
Donell  put  on  airs  of  injured  innocence,  and  declared 
himself  guiltless  of  any  such  design ;  privately,  how- 
ever, he  made  inquiries  which  satisfied  himself  that 
Florence  had  only  spoken  the  truth,  in  relation  to 
his  influence  at  Court,  and  that  nothing  could  be 
done  in  that  quarter ;  so  he  was  fain  to  go  home  as 
he  went,  none  the  better  for  his  visit  to  London,  but 
more  envious  than  ever  of  the  polished  and  high- 
bred cousin  who,  prisoner  as  he  was,  and  with  all 
his  resources  cut  oiF,  could  yet  defeat  the  machina- 
tions of  his  enemies,  and  make  for  himself  powerful 
friends  at  the  very  Court  of  Elizabeth!  "It  was 
ever  so  with  Fineen,"  said  the  joung  MacCarthy 


The  Fortunes  of  an  Irish  Ciurf, 


173 


Reagh.  Whoii  l)ut  a  boy,  in  ourpports  around  Kil- 
brittan  Castle,  he  was  first  and  best  in  everything; 
he  made  friends  of  \n<j:]i  and  low  with  his  handsome 
face  and  his  fair  speech.  He  won  Ailecn  MacCarthy, 
and  the  Tanistry  of  all  Clan  Caura,  by  his  soft  speech 
and  smiling  eyes,  and  Spanish  love  songs.  Ay  I 
Spanish  ! "  and  the  baffled  chieftain  chuckled  with 
the  base  trium{>h  of  a  mean  spirit.  "His  Spanish 
songs,  and  S])anish  tongue,  and  Spanish  ways  can 
all  be  turned  to  orood  account  accainst  him.  Never 
mind !  There  is  luck  in  leisure — it's  a  lonix  lane  has 
no  turning, — so  Fineen  MacDonogh  !  we  may  be  even 
with  you  yet." 

Strange  to  say  that,  with  all  his  wondrous  power 
of  winning  hearts,  with  all  the  love  that  gathered 
round  him,  and  all  the  hopes  that  centered  in  him, 
no  man  in  Munster  of  his  day,  even  in  that  early 
period  of  his  long  and  chequered  life,  had  so  many  or 
such  inveterate  enemies  as  Florence  MacCarthy ! 

And  his  young  wife,  his  wife  of  five  years,  she  to 
whom  he  had  given  much  love,  and  would  have  given 
more  but  that,  all  too  soon,  and  yet  too  late,  he  dis- 
covered that  there  was,  between  him  and  her,  little 
in  common,  little  community  of  thought,  or  aim, 
or  anything  that  binds  hearts  together, — how  did 
she  spend  those  months  of  separation  from  her  hus- 
band, of  reunion  with  her  parents  ?  Oh  !  Aileen 
MacCarthy  !  wife  of  a  man  whose  dreams  were  high 
and  noble,  who  would  fain  have  served  his  country, 
while  advancing  himself, — but  whose  every  effort. 


ill 


% 


\fR, 


■  m  nwuMi  iwwL^'iww 


174 


MacCartuy  Morb;  or, 


every  generous  or  patriotic  aspirntion  Avas  crvinhod 
by  mountains  of  difficulties — Aileen  MacCarthy  ! 
what  didst  thou,  dauohter  of  the  first  Irish  chieftain 
of  Munster,  to  advance  his  interest,  or  Ireland's,  or 
thine  own  ?  From  thy  lone,  unhonored  grave  conies 
the  sad  response — "Nothing! — Naught  did  I  for 
Florence,  wlien  he  sent  me,  with  our  son,  to  make 
friends  for  him  and  his  cause  in  Munster, — nou'jrht  did 
I  for  husband  or  country — little,  even,  for  myself" 

Glad  to  find  herself  back  aGrain  amonscst  friends 
and  kindred,  welcomed  home  to  her  fatlier's  castl«, 
where  the  board  was  spread  and  the  harp  resounded 
in  honor  of  the  so-loncj  absent  daugjhter  and  tlie 
infant  heir  she  brou<2:lit  back  from  the  Saxon  land  for 
the  failing  line  of  MacCarthy  More,  Lady  Ellen 
thought  but  seldom  of  her  husband  in  his  lonely  room 
in  the  stranqier's  land, — of  his  davs,  so  full  of  anxious 
solicitude,  of  racking  thought, — his  nights  of  study 
more  than  sleep,  of  feverisli  dreams,  of  wakeful, 
weary  watcliing.  The  five  years  of  her  married  life 
had  but  added  to  her  rare  beautv  :  her  slio-ht  form  had 
assumed  larger  and  fuller  proportions,  and  if  the  girl 
of  nineteen,  whom  Florence  MacCarthy  wooed  and 
won.  had  been  passing  fair  to  look  upon,  fairer  still 
was  the  young  matron  of  twenty-four,  whose  ricli 
ripe  loveliness  was  now  the  theme  of  many  a  song, 
tlie  admired  of  every  eye.  Lady  Ellen  knew  it, — 
she  knew  that  even  at  Elizabeth's  Court  homage 
was  paid  full  often  to  lier  beauty  while  she  awaitei) 
tlie  Queen's  pleasure  with  regard  to  her  liusband, — 


^iiUii 


Tub  Fortunes  of  an  Irish  Cuiep. 


.75 


and  the  vanity  that  had  hitherto  lain  latent  in  her 
heart,  grew  by  degrees,  not  slow,  into  the  ruling 
passion  of  her  nature. 

Under  this  evil  influence,  even  maternal  love  grew 
faint  and  feeble,  and  Lady  Ellen  was  nowise  sorry 
to  b3  rid,  by  the  timc-lionored  custom  of  "  fosterage," 
of  the  charge  of  nursing  hi  r  babe.  It  is  true  she 
sometimes  accompanied  him  wlien  he  v/as  taken  for 
fosterasfe  to  the  house  of  some  <»'reat  cliieftain,  as 
described  by  the  English  Bishop  of  Cork,  for  she 
was  not  insensible  to  the  honor  of  beiii'jr  the  mother 
of  Florence  MacCartliy's  son,  iii  whose  person  the 
two  chief  branches  of  tli(^  Clan  Carthy  might  one  day 
be  united ;  but  oftener  still  slie  remained  at  home, 
where  her  ffithcr's  declininof  health  oblii]:ed  him  to 
keep  more  indoors,  and  where  times  were  ga\  er  than 
of  old,  for  Earl  Donald,  although  subdued  by  dis- 
ease, and  a  better  man  than  was  iiis  wont,  was  as 
fond  of  gay  company  as  ever.  It  was  a  joy  for  the 
acred  Ear],  r>i:"jr  than  his  heart  for  years  had  known, 
to  hnv?  his  only  child  near  him,  shedding  light  and 
beauty  o  i  his  fortress-home  ;  Avith  his  wife  he  never 
had  much  community  of  feeling,  and  now,  when 
sensible,  all  too  late,  of  his  ill-treatment  of  one  so 
deserving  of  a  happier  lot,  the  sight  of  her  pallid 
face,  and  grief-silvered  hair  was  something  !ie  wished 
to  avoid  as  far  as  might  be. 


1:1' 


u 


It' 


K<S    ', 


176 


MioCartiiy  More;  or 


u  t 


t-i 


CHAPTER  XI, 

Lady  Ellen"  and  her  infant  son  had  arrived  in 
March  at  Pallice  Castle;  in  the  lightsome  way 
already  described,  the  spring  and  summer  were 
spent  by  her  gay  ladyship,  who  gave  herself  as  little 
concern  about  passing  events,  outside  her  own  en- 
joyments, as  e\er  did  her  father  in  his  most  reckless 
mood.  And  yet  there  ivas  enough,  even  in  her  own 
affairs,  to  make  her  both  sad  and  sober.  Florence 
was  still  in  London,  petitioning,  as  usual,  for  leave 
to  go  home  ;  often,  it  would  seem,  on  the  point  of 
succeeding  in  his  efforts,  but  as  often  foiled  by  some 
new  device  of  his  enemies,  foremost  amongst  whom, 
for  reasons  of  old  standing,  was  his  countiyman, 
and  neighbor,  as  one  might  say, — David  Barry, 
Lord  Butte vant.  Of  all  the  numerous  foes  whom 
self-interest  and  envy,  and  other  base  passions,  had 
banded  against  him.  Lord  Barry — as  he  was  com- 
monly called — WIS  the  most  persistent,  the  most 
bitter,  and  the  most  disliked  by  Florence.  Indeed, 
whatever  of  bitterness  was  in  Florence's  nature 
seems  to  have  been  all  exhausted  on  this  Norman- 
Irish  Viscount.  To  Barry  was,  in  a  great  measure, 
to  be  attributed  his  long  imprisonment  at  that  time,  a 
fact  of  whicli  Florence  was  fully  cognizant. 

Then  her  husband's  affairs  were  necessarily  falling 
more  and  more  into  confusion,  and  it  mortilicd  hci; 


istmsasssmk 


TuE  Fortunes  of  an  Irisu  Chirp. 


177 


mom  than  a  little  to  be  so  often  do;>endent  on  her 
father,  whose  profligate  course  of  life,  and  neglect 
of  pecuniary  affairs,  left  him  little  to  spare.  Her 
mother  jrrew  daily  more  detached  from  the  world, 
more  rapt  in  her  devotions,  more  closely  united  to 
the  God  from  whom  and  throuirh  whom  she  alone 
received  consolation.  Day  by  day  the  distance 
grew  Avider  between  the  Christian  motlier,  whose 
heart  had  been  chastened  by  suflering,  and  the 
worldly-minded  daughter,  whose  less  sensitive  nature 
could  not  suffer  in  the  same  deo-ree. 

Summer  past  away  with  its  sunshine  and  its 
flowers.  Autumn  came  and  went,  and  the  moaning 
winds  of  bleak  November  were  making  sad  music 
amongst  the  leafless  woods  around  Killarney,  when 
one  gray  evening,  as  the  Countess  and  her  daughter 
sat  watching  the  little  Donald  whom  Una  was 
encouraging  to  make  his  first  attempt  at  walking, — 
an  unusual  bustle  was  heard  in  the  hall  below;  the 
next  moment  steps  were  heard  on  the  stairs,  and 
Florence  MacCarthy  entered  the  room  ! 

Speechless  with  astonishment.  Lady  Ellen  stood, 
and  it  was  not  till  she  had  received  and  returned 
his  fond  embrace  tliat  she  could  realize  the  presence 
of  her  husband,  A  thrill  of  joy  ran  through  the 
sorrow-chilled  heart  of  the  Countess  Ilonora,  as 
Florence  kissed  her  hand  with  the  courtly  grace 
that  belonged  to  him,  and  her  grave,  sweet  voice 
trembled  with  pleasurable  emotion  as  she  welcomed 
hiixx  back  to  Pallice  Castle.     The  Countess   had, 


•  t 


I 


'I 


! 


if 


f 


i  ■  i  u  t. 


SB! 


,  1 

i 

'■r'*     W 

J*       K 

is 

rX         flr 

^ 

1 

HI 

'i   '  ^  .S; 

^4vM: 

.;i 

'^r     Br] 

,'« 

v^'      ^^ 

\V 

^i 

0i 

/  ^m 

1 

msamm 


.178 


MAcCARTHy  More;  or, 


from  the  first,  recognized  in  her  liigh-bred  son-in-law 
qualities  of  mind,  at  least,  more  akin  to  her  own 
than  those  of  even  her  own  and  only  child,  and  to 
see  him  again  was  one  of  the  very  few  pleasures  to 
wliich  she  had  of  late  looked  forward. 

With  all  her  heart  beaming  in  her  eyes.  Lady 
Ellen  took  up  her  son  and'^placed  him  in  his  father's 
arms,  where,  however,  he  did  not  long  remain,  for 
the  little  heir  of  Clancai'thy  had  already  a  temper 
and  a  will  of  his  own,  and  so,  seemg  only  a  stranger 
in  the  father  he  had  never  known,  he  cried  and 
kicked  so  lustily  to  get  back  to  Una  that  Florence 
was  well  content  to  resign  him  to  the  lauo-hinj? 
damsel  who,  although  having  no  special  charge  of 
his  little  lordship,  often  claimed  the  privilege  of 
having  him  a  while  to  herself.  The  child  was  sent 
to  his  nurse,  and  then  Lady  Ellen  asked  her  "husband 
how  he  had  got  home  at  last. 

Florence  smiled.  "  I  am  sent  on  the  Queen's 
business,"  he  replied  sententiously. 

"  The  Queen's  business !"  cried  his  wife,  much 
amazed.     "  Why,  Florence,  you  deal  in  riddles  !" 

The  Countess,  even,  looked  the  surprise  she  did 
not  care  to  express. 

"It  is  even  so,"  said  Florence,  looking  from  one 
to  the  other,  with  the  same  humorous  expression ; 
"  small  chance  would  I  have  had  of  coming  hither 
even  now,  but  that  Donal — I  crave  your  ladyship's 
pardon  for  naming  the  graceless  varlet,"  he  said, 
in  an  altered  tone  addressing  the  Countess — "  but 


Thr  Fortunes  of  an  Imsn  Chirp. 


17& 


( 


that  Doiial  hath  been  inlaying  his  wild  pranks, 
worse  than  ever  of  late, — the  which  you  may  have 
hoard,  and  that  there  are  signs  of  trouble  gathering 
in  the  Xorth  ! — For  these  reasons  I  am  graciously 
permitted  to  return  liitlier,  on  condition  that  I  help 
Her  Majesty's  servants  to  keep  the  peace  here  in 
Miinster." 

"  And  for  that  only  hath  your  long  imprisonment 
ended  ?"  said  the  Countess. 

"  I  pray  your  ladyship,  when  was  favor  bestowed 
by  Eli.^abeth  of  England  on  one  of  our  race  or 
creed,  save  to  further  her  own  interests  ? — How 
fares  MacCarthy  More  ?" 

"  Donald  is  well,"  said  the  Countess,  her  pale 
cheek  faintly  flushing;  "  we  see  as  little  of  him  now 
as  ever.  Alas  !  Florence,  thhigs  are  no  better  here 
than  when  you  left  us  five  long  years  ago  !" 

"  Courage,  dear  lady !"  said  Florence,  kindly  and 
cheerfully.  "  Courage — the  clouds  v/ill  clear  away 
at  last,  and  light  will  succeed  to  darkness.  Now 
that  I  have  come  back,  things  may  go  better." 

The  Countess  shook  her  head.  "  An'  his  heart  be 
not  changed,  Florence,  I  have  nouglit  to  hope  I — 
Natheless,  I  trust  in  God — tu>l  in  him  !  Go  now,  my 
son,  you  have  need  of  rest  and  refreshment.'* 

"  Is  MacCarthy  in  the  castle  ?" 

"  I  knov  not  if  he  be.  Florence  !"  said  the  Countess. 
'*  Methinks  he  rode  out  tliis  morning." 

A  few  hours  lat(:  Florence  and  his  father-in  "'iiw 
were  sitting  tetenjhtete  by  the  bog-wood  fire  in  the 


'J. 


I       if; 


iL  ly 


I: 

•JTr  J-  -  *  ^*-' 


ill 


i; 


UABI 


180 


MacCajituy  Mork;  ob, 


*  I 


lower  hall.  The  evening  meal  was  over,  and,  con- 
trary to  his  usual  custom,  the  Earl  was  duly  sober, 
whether  it  was  that  the  temperate  habits  of  his  son- 
in-law  had  shamed  the  old  man  into  unwonted 
moderation,  or  that  Florence  had  besought  him  to 
keep  his  head  clear  for  that  time,  at  least.  That 
end  of  the  hall  was  respectfully  left  to  themselves, 
while  the  few  gentlemen  who  had  shared  the  even- 
ing  meal  gathered  around  the  capacious  fireplace 
at  the  farther  end,  and  the  vassals  betook  themselves 
elsewhere. 

Florence  had  been  explaining  to  the  Earl  the 
terms  on  which  he  had  been  allowed  to  return  home. 
"  You  see  I  am  the  bounden  servant  of  Her  Majesty," 
said  he  with  his  strange  smile ;  "  after  five  years' 
imprisonment, — my  property  (for  all  the  Queen's 
*  protection ')  gone  to  wreck  and  ruin, — I  am  ex- 
pected to  pacify  all  Munster, — and  brhig  all  Clan 
Carthy,  at  the  least,  to  loyal  sentiments.  The 
which  I  will  do, — according  to  mine  ability." 

"  Before  God,  Florence  !  you  are  over  cool  for  a 
MacCarthy !"  said  the  Earl ;  his  obtuse  faculties 
wliolly  at  fault  in  penetrating  the  deep  heart  of  his 
son-in-law.    "  What  do  you  propose  doing  ?" 

"  Hire  some  hundreds  of  bonnaghts,*  and  raise  as 
large  a  force  of  my  own  men  as  my  convenience  will 
permit." 

"  By  St.  Bride  !  you  talk  as  though  you  had  money 

*  The  bonnaghts  were  mercenary  troops  in  those  tron^ilons 
times,  often  employed  by  Munster  and  Leiuster  chiefs,  according 
to  their  military  necessities  and  the  extent  of  their  meana. 


The  Fortunes  of  an  Irish  Chief. 


181 


con- 


oney 

n\>lon8 
ardiug 


at  will ! — Metlioiight  you  were  pleading  poverty  to 
the  old  woman  in  London  ?" 

"  And  the  old  woman  in  London,  with  her  usuaj 
liberality,  hath  given  me  the  means  of  serving  her 
and  myself." 

"Say  yon  so,  Fineen?"  said  the  Earl  eagerly; 
"  if  that  be  so  you  are  luckier  than  ever  Irish  gentle- 
man was  before.  What  allowance  hath  she  made 
you  ?" 

"  I  warrant  me  you  will  laugh  when  I  tell  you.  I 
know  not  if  you  remember  hearing  of  a  fine  that 
was  imposed  on  David  Barry  when  he  was  set  at 
liberty  after  the  Desmond  troubles,  his  father  having 
died  in  prison  ?" 

"Ay,  marry,  I  remember  it  \vell ;  but  what  hath 
Barry's  fine  to  do  with  your  aftairs  ?" 

"  You  may  not  know,  McCarthy  More,  but  1 
know,"  said  Florence,  with  his  calm  smile,  "  that  the 
fine  was  never  levied,  and  so  it  might  have  been  for- 
ever and  a  day,  seeing  that  Barry  is  now  the 
Queen's  most  humble  servant  to  command,  had  not 
David  meddled  overmuch  in  my  atfairs.  So  when 
Elizabeth  was  graciously  pleased  to  send  me  home 
on  her  own  business,  after  five  years'  imprisonment 
— for  little  crime  beyond  a  love  match — to  estates 
that  her  English  servants  had  had  their  will  of  all  the 
while,  knowing  that  it  were  easier  to  draw  blood  from 
a  stone  than  money  (for  Irish  uses)  from  the  grand- 
daughter of  the  miser,  Henry  VII.,  I  reminded  Her 
Majesty  of  Barry's  unpaid  fine,  whereat  she  was  well 


I  .■ 


1'   t  ; 


I 


}!  ' 


» ; ! 


>■  ii: 


1^ 
i-  ij-^ 


::■  !:U 


IMi;, 


182 


MacCarthy  More;  or, 


m 


' 


1' 


' 


il 


pleased, — ^knowing  that  I  could  do  little  to  serve  her 
without  money — and  with  her  own  hand  she  signed 
an  order  for  that  fine  to  be  levied  without  delay,  and 
given  to  me  for  her  royal  uses!  I  tell  you,  Donald 
MacCarthy,  the  Lord  Deputy  in  Dublin  looked 
blank  enough  when  I  presented  to  him  the  Queen's 
order  to  have  that  fine  levied  without  delay,  and 
handed  over  to  me,  who  hath  for  so  many  long  years 
been  kept  away  from  home  and  country,  dancing  at- 
tendance on  the  Queen  with  my  sad  petitions,  even 
since  the  prison  gates  were  throAvn  open  to  me. 
David  Barry  hath  had  his  share  in  my  long  imprison- 
ment; he  shall  now  pay  his  fine,t  and  pay  it  to 
me  /" 

With  compressed  lips,  and  flashing  eyes,  and  bitter 
emphasis,  Florence  spoke ;  but  his  father-in-law  re- 
garded the  matter  in  a  different  light.  To  him  it 
was  a  capital  joke,  and  he  laughed  loud  and  long  at 
the  idea  of  Florence's  bringing  up  the  long-forgot- 
ten fine,  and  obtaining  a  grant  of  it  for  his  own 
purposes. 

"  Doth  Barry  know  of  this  ?"  said  Elizabeth's 
rough  old  Earl,  when  he  had  had  his  laugh  out. 

"  Truly  yes,"  said  Florence  ;  "  I  came  not  hither 
from  Dublin  before  I  had  got  security  on  his  lands, 
he  having  refused  to  pay  the  fine  on  the  Lord  De- 
puty's deman  1.  on  the  grounds  that  he  had  it  not." 

t  £500  may  now  seem  a  small  fine  for  a  nobleman  convicted  of  re- 
bellion ;  but  it  must  be  remembered  that  £oOO,  in  the  reign  of 
Elizabeth,  was,  proportionally,  aa  much  as  $10,000  now,  or  even 
more. 


The  Fortunes  of  an  Irish  Cuirp. 


188 


The  Earl  looked  at  his  keen-witted  son-in-law  in 
blank  amazement. 

"  Finecn  MacDonogh,"  lie  said,  "  your  father  be- 
fore you  was  a  long-headed  man,  and  a  man  that 
played  his  cards  well ;  but,  by  my  life,  he  was  noth- 
ing to  you  in  regard  to  dealing  with  these  Sassen- 
achs  ;  but  tell  me,  Fineen,  you  that  know  so  much, 
is  there  trouble  at  hand  ?" 

"  The  Queen  will  have  it  that  there  is,"  said  Flor- 
ence, ever  cautious  in  his  words,  "  and  so  say  Nor- 
reys  and  St.  Ledger,  and  others  that  ought  to  know.'* 

"  What  do  they  say  ?" 

"  They  say  that  O'JSTeil  and  O'Donnel  in  the  North 
are  making  raids  even  now  into  the  Pale,  and  must, 
therefore,  find  themselves  in  a  condition  to  resist  the 
Queen's  authority.  Here  in  Munster,  as  they  tell  me, 
there  is  much  discontent — the  which  is  truly  surpris- 
ing," adcl'^d  Florence  with  irony  too  finely-pointed  for 
his  fatlier-in-law's  perception.  "  Even  your  own  son, 
Donal,"  said  he,  fixing  his  eyes  on  the  old  man's 
face,  "  is  sjiid  to  be  somewhat  troublesome  to  the 
English  in  these  parts." 

"  By  the  Rood !  they  may  well  say  that,"  said 
Earl  Donald,  with  one  of  his  heartiest  laughs ; 
"  Donal  was  ever  a  scrapegrace,  as  you  know  full 
well,  and  of  late  years  he  hath  taken  to  hunting  the 
Browns, — I  warrant  you  he  maketh  their  ''Slgnory^  as 
they  call  my  lands  of  Molahiffe,  over  hot  for  their 
comfort." 

"  Much  have  I  heard  of  his  pranks,  even  in  Lon  - 


S  ii 


*i 


i:  U' 


ky 


..I 


i,''i 


[l;rn 


lit 


184 


MacCautuy  More;  or, 


don,"  said  Florence,  humoring  the  strange  iancy  of  the 
reckless  cliieftain.  "  I  promise  you  '  the  Earl  of  Clan- 
car's  base  son'  is  as  well-known  even  to  the  (^ueen  her- 
self as  either  CXeil  or  O'Donell.  Few  disjiatches 
from  Munster  cross  the  Avatcr  now  to  London  without 
some  new'  story  of  Donal's  'evil  practices.'  lie  is 
known  in  Cork  and  Dublin,  ay,  marry,  in  London,  as 
*  the  Munster  liobin  Hood  !'  " 

"  And  truly  he  is,"  said  the  gratified  father  of  that 
hopeful  son ;  "  they  call  him  not  amiss.  Donal  is 
a  brave  boy — if  he  had  fifty  faults  I  will  say  that 
for  him — I  warrant  you  he  keeps  the  Browns  in  hot 
water ;  he  hunts  them  and  theirs  —  they  hunt  him 
and  his — so  it  is  all  fair  ;  let  them  fight  it  out,  say  I !" 

"  Donal  is  a  chip  of  the  old  block,  MacCarthy  1" 
said  Florence,  as  he  rose  to  retire. 

"Ho  !  ho  !  ho !"  laughed  the  Earl,  "a  chip  of  the 
old  block ! — well,  I  know  not  but  he  is  ! — at  his  age 
I  might  have  amused  myself  as  he  doth,  were  there, 
as  now,  a  brood  of  English  vipers  nesting  in  the 
heart  of  my  father's  country.  Take  a  draught  of 
wine,  Fineen,  before  you  go." 

"  I  thank  you,  but  I  must  decline  the  ofier,"  said 
Florence ;  "  my  head  cannot  bear  so  much  as  yours 
— long  though  you  say  it  is, — you  will  hold  me  ex- 
cused." 

Reluctantly  the  Earl  suffered  him  to  go  without 
emptying  another  flagon,  and  Avhen  Florence  did  suc- 
ceed in  effecting  his  retreat,  McFinan,  the  aged 
seneschal,  was  inyjted  tP  take  his  place  at  the  hearth, 


Thr  Fortunes  of  an  luisn  Chief. 


185 


.  I'j 


of 


ex- 


th, 


and  his  sliare  of  the  wme — a  rare  vintage  which  had 
gained  a  good  round  ago  in  the  vaults  of  Pallico 
Castle. 

In  a  marvellously  short  space  of  time,  considering 
the  straits  to  which  he  coni})luinod  of  being  reduced, 
Florence  had  no  less  tlu\n  four  hundred  of  his  own 
retainers  under  arms,  and  ready  for  any  emergency. 
He  had  made  arrangements,  too,  with  some  of  the 
captains  of  the  honnaglits^  to  obtain  as  many  of 
those  hardy  soldiers  as  his  needs  required,  whenever 
he  chose  to  call  for  them. 

Meanwhile  Lord  Barry  was  not  idle.  Enraged 
beyond  measure  by  the  claim  given  to  Florence  on 
certain  of  his  lands,  awaiting  the  payment  of  the 
fine,  he  cast  prudence  to  the  winds  and  set  out  im- 
mediately for  "  the  court,"  to  lay  his  complaint  be- 
fore Her  Majesty.  This  he  did  with  a  rashness  and 
recklessness  that  made  him  overshoot  the  mark.  Hg 
accused  the  Lord  Deputy  and  others  of  Her  Ma- 
jesty's L-isli  officials  of  gross  injustice  towards  him- 
self, complained  that  they  had  given  all  his  lands  to 
Florence  MacCarthy,  and  scrupled  not  to  hint  hat 
those  high  functionaries  were  bribed  by  a  man  whom 
he  could  prove  to  be  a  traitor  to  the  Queen's  high- 
ness. 

The  latter  charge  was  taken  due  note  of,  and  pri- 
vate orders  sent  to  the  Lord  Deputy  to  take  no  fur* 
ther  steps  in  the  matter  of  the  fine  until  he  had  given 
satisfactory  answers  to  the  charges  which  the  Lord 
Barry  was  prepared  to  bring  against  him.     But  be- 


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188 


MagCarthy  Morr;  or, 


fore  these  instructions  reached  Dublin,  Florence  w^aa 
already  put  in  possession  of  the  lands  forfeited  by 
BaiTy's  leaving  the  country  !  The  hot-blooded  chief 
of  Ibawn  had  made  powerful  enemies  for  himself,  as 
he  then,  and  after,  found  to  his  cost. 

It  was  early  winter  when  Florence  came  home ; 
the  winds  were  abroad  over  the  chilled  and  faded 
earth.  Still  there  was  beauty  and  the  wild  grandeur 
which  a  poet  loves,  in  the  fairy-haunted  scenes 
around  Killamey.  Dear  to  the  heart  of  Florence 
MacCarthy,  with  its  high  aspirations,  its  yearnings 
after  the  unreal,  its  wealth  of  poetry  cramped  and 
pinched  by  the  hard  realities  of  his  life, — dear  to 
him,  after  his  five  j'-ears'  imprisonment  in  smoky 
London,  was  the  free  air,  the  glorious  beauty  of  that 
wild  region  whose  charms  not  even  winter  could 
destroy.  The  rocks  and  the  mountains  were  there, 
and  the  free  waters  and  the  ancient  woods,  and  the 
native  skies,  and  the  old-time  legends  and  historic 
associations  that  hung  over  all,  and  which  none 
knew  better  than  Florence  MacCarthy,  the  life-long 
student  of  the  past.  This  free,  unchecked  com- 
munion with  nature  in  her  grandest  moods,  amid 
scenes  that  were  so  intimately  associated  with  the 
history  of  his  proud  race,  was,  to  the  chafed  and 
harassed  mind  of  Florence,  like  a  draught  of  cool 
water  to  the  parched  traveller  in  the  desert  waste. 
It  strengthened  all  his  faculties,  and  braced  his 
energies  for  new  struggles.  Sometimes  his  wife 
accompanied  him,  but  for  her  the  wintry  scene  had 


Thb  Fortdnbs  09  AN  Irish  Chibf. 


187 


no  channs,  and  she  preferred  the  fireside  in  the 
castle  hall  to  "  the  wind-beaten  hill,"  or  the  lake 
shore  that  lay  all  mournful  in  winter's  icy  arms. 

With  all  his  love  for  his  wife,  her  staying  in-doors 
was  no  privation  to  Florence.  The  dreams  he 
dreamed,  and  the  plans  he  formed,  were  not  to  be 
talked  of,  least  of  all  tc  the  fair  young  wife  who 
had  already  reproached  hira  many  a  time  with  the 
singular  aptitude  he  had  of  getting  himself  into 
trouble.  From  some  of  his  favorite  speculations  he 
knew  she  would  have  shrunk  in  terror, — and  his 
own  life  might  be  the  forfeit  of  such  revelations, 
even  to  her.  Solitude  was  his  safest,  as  it  was  then 
his  favorite,  companion. 

Fain  would  Florence  have  prolonged  his  stay  at 
Pallice,  as  the  Countess  wistfully  besought  him  to 
do,  but  he  knew  that  his  people  were  anxiously 
looking  for  his  return  to  Carbery,  and  there,  for  the 
present,  his  affairs  lay.  So  with  his  wife  and  their 
young  son,  and  a  goodly  train  of  attendants,  he 
turned  his  f\ce  homewards,  and  established  his 
household  gods  amonj]^  the  faithful  clansmen  of  Car- 
bery.  Great  was  the  rejoicing  all  over  Cork  County 
when  the  young  Tanist  returned  to  the  home  of 
his  fathers  after  his  long  captivity  in  the  land  of  the 
stranger ;  ever  a  favorite  amongst  the  clansmen  of 
MacCarthy  Reagh,  his  unjust  imprisonment  made 
him  all  the  more  beloved,  his  brother  Dermod  hav- 
ing taken  care  to  keep  him  before  them  in  the  way 
most  likely  to  enlist  their  sympathies. 


■«■■■« 


188 


MacCabtuy  Mobb;  ob. 


Some  few  there  were,  however,  who  were  far  from 
sharing  the  general  joy.  Donald  MacCarthy  Ileagh 
was  not  glad  to  see  his  cousin  back  in  his  country  ; 
desirous  of  leaving  his  lands,  and  the  captaincy  of 
his  sept  to  his  own  son,  he  could  not  forgive  Flor- 
ence for  coming  betweeji  him  and  that  dream  of  his 
life,  any  more  than  he  could  forgive  him  for  his  far 
greater  popularity  amongst  the  clancmen.  Then 
there  was  worthy  Mr.  liogers,  the  hojieful  sonr 
in-law  of  the  English  Attorney-General,  who  had 
managed  to  possess  himself  of  over  three  thousand 
acres  of  Florence's  own  lands  left  him  by  his  father, 
— Rogers,  assuredly,  was  not  glad.  Then  there  was 
Lord  Barry  fretting  and  fuming,  in  his  baronial 
castle  of  liarryscourt,  over  Florence's  out-manccu- 
vring  of  him  in  the  matter  of  the  fine,  and  the  safe 
return  of  so  unwelcome  a  neiujhbor. 

To  all  these,  for  the  very  sulficient  reasons  already 
assigned,  Florence  IMacCarthy's  release,  and  his  re- 
appearance amongst  his  native  scenes  was  anything 
but  pleasing.  There  was  no  help  for  it  now,  how- 
ever,— whatever  their  united  skill  might  do  in  the 
future, — there  was  Florence  home  again,  heir  appa- 
rent to  the  chieftainship  of  his  clan,  with  the  young 
son  who  was  one  day  to  inherit  the  title  of  Clancar- 
thy,  as  his  father  might  that  of  MacCarthy  More,  in 
addition  to  the  scarce  less  proud  one  of  MacCarthy 
Ileagh.  Amongst  these  gentlemen,  bound  by  a 
common  interest,  Florence's  return,  under  such  cir- 
cumstances, caused  a  commotion  that  was  anything 
but  pleasant. 


Tub  Fortunes  op  an  Irish  Ciiibp. 


189 


While  Florence  was  hard  at  work,  on^anizhig, 
traimng,  repairing  the  sad  inroads  of  neglect  on  his 
fine  estates,  lovingly  and  zealously  assisted  by  his 
brother,  the  high-hearted,  generous,  l>ermo<l  ^[oyle, 
his  enemies  were  not  idle.  Lord  J>arrv,  shallow  and 
selfish  and  vindictive,  was  made  the  mouthjnece  of 
the  league.  The  early  days  of  June,  rich,  radiant 
June — saw  Florence  MacCarthy  summoned  to  Dublin 
to  answer  the  charges  of  my  Lord  Barry  of  Butte- 
vant — was  ever  man  so  hunted  and  harassed? 
While  the  grass  was  green  on  his  native  plains,  and 
the  flowers  made  glad  the  ca-th, — while  his  son  was 
learning  to  lisp  his  name,  and  home  aftections  were 
twining  around  his  heart, — for  Lady  Ellen  was  again 
likely  to  become  a  mother, — he  was  forced  to  leave 
his  fair  southern  home  for  the  smoky  atmosphere  of 
Dublin, — then  far  difterent  from  the  handsome  and 
elegant  metropolis  of  Ireland  in  our  day, — and  the 
slippery  precincts  of  the  viceregal  court. 

A  few  days'  notice  were  given  him,  and  knowing, 
from  bitter  experience,  how  uncertain  was  the  time, 
or  manner  of  his  return,  he  availed  himself  of  the 
little  time  given  him  to  pay  a  visit  he  had  been 
promising  to  make  for  weeks  past.  This  was  to  an 
old  and  tried  friend  of  his  family,  the  Lord  Courny, 
whose  castle,  near  Kinsale,  rose  on  a  beetling  cliff 
over  the  wild  Atlantic  wave.  The  aged  nobleman 
received  his  young  friend  with  every  manifestation 
of  joy.  Two  whole  days  did  Florence  spend  at 
Kinsale,  rambling  most  of  the  time  along  the  shore, 


190 


MaoCarthy  Mobs;  or, 


sometimes  with  his  friend,  oftener  alone.  It  were 
worth  seeing  him  when  he  stood  at  early  morn  cr 
late  eve  "  by  the  sad  sea  wave," — the  ocean  breeze 
fanning  his  dark  luxuriant  liair,  his  tall  form  erect 
and  motionless,  his  face  pale  and  rigid,  and  his  eyes 
fixed  on  the  distant  horizon.  A  noble  specimen  he 
was  of  those  proud  Milesians  of  whom  an  Irish  poet* 
has  gracefully  sung : 

In  Erin  old  there  dwelt  a  mighty  race, 
Taller  than  Roman  spears. 

But  of  what  was  he  thinking,  this  noble  descend- 
ant of  the  Eugenian  princos  of  South  Munster,  as  he 
stood  during  those  bright  summer  hours  looking  out 
on  the  restless  waters  ?  Was  he  dreaming  of  that 
"  Hy-brasil — the  land  of  the  blest,"  which  figures  so 
largely  in  the  traditions  of  the  western  and  southern 
Irish  tribes  ? — 

"  That  Eden  where  tli'  immortiil  brave 
Dwell  in  a  land  serene, — 
Whose  homes  beyond  the  western,  wave, 
At  twilight  oft  are  seen  I" 

ISTot  so;  Florence  MacCarthy  was  no  dreamer. 
His  lot  was  cast  amid  stern  and  hard  realities,  and 
whatever  poetry  might  have  been  in  his  nature,  no 
man  of  his  day  brought  keener  perceptions,  more 
shrewd  sagacity,  or  more  consummate  prudence  to 
bear  on  the  difficulties  by  which  he  was  surrounded 


Since  these  lines  were  quoted,  and  this  chapter  written,  the 
sh  poet"  has  passed  from  amongst  the  livmg— slain  by  the 


« 

"Irish 

hand  of  an  Irish  assassin ! 


Thb  Fobtunss  of  an  Irish  Gniir. 


191 


from  youth  to  age.  Standing  by  that  rocky  sliore, 
his  mind  was  occupied  with  grave  cares  and  plans  of 
vast  magnitude.  If  he  was  not  thinking  of  the 
fabled  "land  of  the  blest"  of  his  Celtic  fathers,  he 
was  thinking  of  the  noble  land  beyond  the  sea  from 
which  they  had  gone  forth  to  possess  the  "  Isle  of 
Destiny," — of  that  sunny  Spain  which  was  under 
Heaven  the  hope  of  Irish  Catholics  then, — he  was 
thinking  of  what  the  prospects  might  be  of  speedy 
aid,  and  how  that  aid, — if  come  it  did,  at  last, — 
might  be  made  available.  IIow  his  look  kindled, — 
how  the  color  rushed  back  to  his  cheek, — how  he  bit 
his  lips  almost  till  the  blood  flowed,  as  though  to  keep 
from  giving  utterance  to  the  bold  projects, — the  high 
hopes  that  tilled  his  soul  in  those  hours  of  apparently 
idle  thought  by  the  sounding  sea.  That  sea  washed 
the  coast  of  Spain,-— from  Spain  must  help  come. 
On  one  point,  then,  his  mind  was  made  up,  before  he 
returned  to  his  home. 


192 


MacCabthy  More;  ob, 


ClIArXER  XII. 


0?ir  the  27tli  day  of  June,  in  that  year  of  grace, 
Florence  MacCarthy  was  called  to  answer  tho 
charges  of  the  Lord  Barry  before  the  Lords  Justices. 
These  charges  were,  for  the  most  part,  a  reproduc- 
tion of  the  former  ones,  on  which  he  had  been  ex> 
amined  before  the  Piivy  Council,  in  London,  years 
before.  With  the  old,  there  were,  however,  some 
new  counts  to  the  indictment.  Tlie  very  first  charge 
brought  forward  was  concerning  "  one  Allen  Marten, 
gent,  born  in  Galway,  student  of  Her  Majesty's 
common  laws,  being  maintained  and  kept  by  Florence 
Cartie,  both  in  England  and  Ireland  for  a  time,  till 
he  was  sent  by  the  said  Florence  over  to  Sir  William 
Stanley  and  Jacques, — hath  preferred  the  said  Mar^ 
ten  to  the  Prince  of  Parma,  where  he  was  appointed 
one  of  his  secretaries !"  The  next  charge  was  of  a 
similar  nature  :  "  William  Hurley,  born  in  the  county 
of  Limerick,  brought  up  in  Oxenford,  professor  of 
the  Civil  Law,  was,  at  the  time  of  the  apprehension 
of  the  said  Florence,  his  retainer  in  this  realm,  em- 
ployed by  the  said  Florence  to  the  said  Sir  William 
Stanley  and  Jacques,  furnished  with  money  and 
horse,  under  color  to  procure  a  discharge  from  Eng- 
land for  the  said  Florence,  which  Hurley  remains 
there  as  yet  by  his  direction  1" 

The  fifth  count  in  the  indictment  is  worthy  of 


TllR   FORTUNRS   OF   AN   IrISII   CuIRP. 


193 


note  :  "  Finin  MacConnac  MacCartic,  of  Glenacinme, 
witliin  the  country  of  Carbery,  in  the  county  of  Cork, 
cousin  and  retainer  to  the  saitl  Florence,  which 
Finin  prctendeth  title  to  Glcnacrime  aforesaid,  was 
sent  over  by  the  said  Florence  to  Sir  William 
Stanley  and  Jacques  aforesaid,  where  he  serves  and 
remains  as  yet." 

It  was  curious  that  every  one  of  the  eight  charges 
brought  against  Florence  on  this  occasion  in  some 
way  related  to  his  connections  with  "  the  Queen's 
enemies"  abroad,  and  friends  and  retainers  of  his 
sent,  at  his  own  expense,  to  various  parts  of  Europe. 
Yet,  by  his  own  account,  his  affairs  were  in  the  very 
worst  condition  ;  he  had  not  the  means  of  raising  a 
force  for  the  protection  of  his  property  and  the 
Queen's  service,  but  depended  solely  on  Lord  Barry's 
fine.  The  fine  was  still  unpaid,  and  yet  the  forces 
were  raised  and  equipped! — If  these  charges  of 
Barry's  were  true,  Florence  MacCarthy  was  in  no 
need  of  money.  But,  according  to  him,  these  charges 
were  not  true  ;  he  stoutly  denied  them  all. 

Says  his  biographer :  "  It  will  be  noticed  that  the 
two  first  articles  in  his  reply  are  concerning  law 
students.  It  is  impossible  to  peruse  his  numberless 
petitions,  to  see  the  supreme  address  with  which 
was  carried  on  a  struggle  of  half  a  century  about 
his  property,  the  care  with  which  every  legal  docu- 
ment about  it  was  preserved,  the  readiness  with 
which,  upon  occasion,  they  were  invariably  forth- 
coming, and,  above  all,  the  consummate  skill  with 


iU 


MacCartht  Mork;  ob, 


which,  at  tlie  moBt  critical  moments  of  his  career, 
his  correspondtnce  was  conducted,  and  not  at  once 
conclude  that  he  must,  through  life,  have  retained 
in  his  employment  very  wary  and  learned  legal 
advisers ;  doubtless  the  Brehons  of  Munster  were 
equally  made  use  of  in  his  intercourse  with  his  own 
followers  I" 

As  for  the  clause  relating  to  "  Finin  MacCormac 
MacCartie,"  thereby  hangs  a  tale  so  illustrative  of 
Irish  affairs  in  the  reign  of  good  Queen  Bess,  that 
we  shall  give  it  to  the  reader  as  Florence  repeated 
it  to  his  wife  and  her  mother  on  one  of  the  two 
evenings  he  spent  at  home  after  the  examination. 
As  no  decision  had  been  come  to  in  Dublin,  he  found 
it  expedient  to  repair  to  London  to  solicit  the  good 
offices  of  his  friends,  the  Cecils,  knowing  well  the 
powerful  influence  that  was  being  used  against  him. 

For  reasons  known  to  himself,  he  did  not  make 
the  ladies  acquainted  with  the  particular  clauses  of 
the  indictment ;  he  merely  said  that  there  was  little 
in  them  that  was  new.  "  But  one  thing  Barry  brought 
in,"  said  he,  "  will  serve  to  show  the  manner  of  his 
attack.  It  is  about  a  poor  lad,  a  young  cousin  of 
mine,  who,  being  in  sore  straits,  as  many  others  of 
us  are  in  these  times,  he  came  to  me  when  I  was  in 
the  Tower,  and  asked  me  to  write  a  petition  for  him 
concerning  his  lightful  inheritance,  the  which  I  did, 
and  found  means  to  have  it  brought  before  the  Privy 
Council.  Your  ladyship,"  addressing  the  Countess, 
**  may,  perchance,  have  heard  ere  now  of  the  pitiful 


TiiR  Fortunes  op  an  Irish  Chief. 


195 


murder  of  MacCarthy  of  Glenacrime  by  his  brother's 
son,  Cormac  Don  I" 

"Surely  I  heard  of  it,"  replied  the  Countess — "I 
was  young  at  the  time,  but  I  mind  me  well  of  the 
fear  I  had  when  they  told  me  of  the  murderer  hang- 
ing in  chains  at  Cork  till  the  flesh  fell  oft'  his  bones 
and  they  shook  and  rattled  in  the  wind.  What  Iiad 
that  to  do  with  your  examination,  my  son  Florence  ?" 

Florence  smiled  sadly.  "'An  the  murder  had 
nought  to  do  with  it,  Countess,  the  murdered  man, 
or,  leastways,  his  son,  had.  The  poor  lad  of  whom  I 
Bpoke  but  now  is  the  son  of  the  murdered  chieftain. 
I  know  Ellen  hath  a  fondness  for  hearing  stories — " 

"  Truly  I  have,  Florence  !"  interrupted  his  wife, 
eagerly ;  "  'an  there  be  a  story  I  pray  you  tell  it." 

The  three  sat  by  an  open  window,  and  with  the 
rich  plains  and  swelling  uplands  of  his  own  Carbery 
before  him,  and  a  distant  view  of  the  silver  waters 
of  Court  MacSherry  Bay,  where  they  washed  the 
walls  of  his  ancestral  castle  of  Kilbrittan,  Florence 
commenced  his  story.  He  told  how,  in  the  days 
when  Sir  William  Drury  fitly  represented  Queen 
Elizabeth  in  Ireland,  the  chieftain  of  Glenacrime,  a 
MacCarthy,  and  a  tributary  of  MacCarthy  lieagh, 
was  foully  murdered  by  his  nephew  and  Tanist, 
Cormac .  Don  MacCarthy,  who  thus  lioped  to  enter 
on  the  chieftainship  before  his  rightful  time ;  how 
the  murderer,  still  in  the  prime  of  life,  but  of  dark, 
forbidding  aspect,  w^as  tried,  convicted,  and  executed 
for  his  heinous  crime,  and  how  his  wretched  body 


196 


MacCartiit  Mors;  or, 


swung  in  chains  outsulc  the  walls  of  Cc.k  city  till 
the  flesh  mouldered  from  the  bones,  and  the  gaunt 
ekeleton  shook  drearily  in  the  hreeze  that  swept  over 
the  old  ancestral  plains ;  how  the  tale  of  hoiTortiirilled 
the  heart  of  Munster,  as  the  noble  daughter  of 
the  Desmond  could  bear  witness, — how  the  Queen's 
oiRcials  took  up  the  matter  in  Cork,  and,  whereas 
Cormac  Don  MacCarthy  was  convicted  of  murder^ 
and  suffered  the  extreme  penalty  of  the  law,  tried 
him  for  treason,  and  his  body  being  already  out  of 
reach,  by  reason  of  its  bony  condition  aforesaid,  his 
lands,  or  rather  the  lands  of  his  murdered  uncle, 
were  declared  escheated  to  the  Queen's  highness  I* 

"You  talk  full  strangely,  Florence,"  naid  the 
Countess ;  "  you  said  but  now  that  Cormac  Don  was 
convicted  of  murder,  as  by  right  he  should,  yet  was, 
after  his  death,  tried  for  treason.'''* 

"  It  was  even  so,  our  lady  mother !" 

"  But,  pri'  thee,  how  could  the  murder  of  his 
uncle  be  made  out  treason  against  the  Queen  ?" 

Florence  smiled  darkly  as  he  answered  :  "An' 
the  murdered  chief  were  a  '  ^^idless  man,  his  mur- 
derer's crime  would  be  murder, — nothing  more,  but 
seeing  that  he  had  been  the  lord  of  broad  lands  and 
more  than  one  strong  castle,  to  which  the  murderer 
would  have  been  the  rightful  heir,  it  was  expedient 

*  By  one  of  those  strange  coincUlenccs  that  sometimes  startle 
us  in  our  path  of  life,  the  above  were  the  last  words  of  this  story 
written  when  the  author  heard  of  tlie  fuul  and  pitiful  murder 
of  her  friend  of  many  years  and  fellow-laborer  in  the  field  of  Irish 
iiistory,  Hon.  T.  D.  MeGee,  in  Ottawa,  Canada  West.  What  fol- 
lows was  written  after  an  interval  of  two  mournful  weeks. 


TuR  Fortunes  of  an  Inisn  Cuikf. 


197 


to  make  Cormac's  crime  treason,  that  so  his  lands 
might  be  forfeited  to  the  crown.  I  see  my  litLlo 
Aileen  looks  bewildered — my  story  is  not  such  as 
gentle  ladies  love  to  liear." 

"  Then  wherefore  tell  it,  Florence  ?"  said  his  wife, 
pouting. 

"That  I  will  presently  tell,  Ellen,"  said  Florence, 
gravely ;  "  no  mere  seannachie's  tale  is  this,  but  a 
true  story  of  British  rule  In  this  lav,  T  of  the  Gael. 
Now,  although  the  fair  lands  of  Gi'jnacrime  were 
declared  forfeited  to  the  Queen,  ••  jre  was  on  strong 
eno'gh  and  bold  enough  to  keep  lit:*  Idajesty  out 
of  this,  her  rightful  inheritance^''  -h«  spoke  with 
bitter  irony, — "that  one  was  Teague  of  the  Forces, — 
brother  and  h^ir  of  Cormac  Don  MacCarthy." 

"And  hath  he  kept  the  lands?"  said  the  C">untess. 

"  Ay !  marry  !  hath  he,  and  it  pleased  the  Queen'b 
highness  to  let  him  keep  them,  for  Tcngue  was 
Teague  of  the  Forces,  and  Her  Majesty  had  no 
forces  to  spare  for  the  taking  and  holding  of  her 
lands  of  Glenacrime." 

"A  proper  man  is  Teague,"  said  Lady  Ellen, 
laughing,  "but  what  of  the  poor  lad  concerning 
whom  you  spoke  e'en  now  ?" 

"The  lad  is  my  namesake,  Fineen  MacCarthy, 
and  he  is  the  son  of  the  murdered  chieftain.  He 
was  but  a  young  child  when  the  red  hand  of  murder 
left  him  fatherless.  His  mother  died  of  grief  for  her 
husband's  sad  end,  and  siiice  then,  the  boy  hath  been 
a  lonely  orphan,  dependent  on  the  charity  and  good 


i 


198 


MacCartuy  More;  or, 


will  of  his  father's  friends.  Last  year  he  made  his 
way  to  me  in  London,  and  being  in  a  most  forlorn 
condition,  besought  me  to  do  him  what  service  I 
could,  for  the  sake  of  his  dead  father,  who  was  m  j 
father's  friend  and  follower." 

"  Poor  lad !"  said  Lady  Ellen,  her  eyes  full  of 
tears,  "  it  was  little  you  could  do  to  aid  him  then  I" 

"  But  what  I  could,  I  did ;  I  wrote  a  petition  for 
him,  and  found  a  friend  to  present  it  to  the  Privy 
Council." 

"  And  what  came  of  it  ?" 

"  What  might  be  expected — nothing.  But  my 
Lord  Barry  will  have  it  now,  that  I  sent  the  boy 
on  a  certain  business  of  my  own  to  persons  beyond 
seas,  and  that  he  there  remaineth  in  good  favor 
and  good  estate.  That,  as  I  have  told  you,  is  one 
of  the  treasonable  charores  now  brouGrht  afjainst  me." 

"  But  even  an'  it  were  so,  Florence,"  said  his  wife 
with  her  almost  childlike  look  of  wonder,  "  what 
treason  would  it  be  for  you  to  help  your  young 
cousin  to  good  entertainment  in  foreign  countries  ?" 

Florence  glanced  at  the  Countess,  and  found  her 
eyes  fixed  on  him  with  a  peculiar  expression,  a  look 
of  keen  scrutiny  that  surprised  him. 

"Ellen  will  be  ever  a  child,"  said  Lady  Clancarthy 
with  her  grave  smile. 

"  She  hath  yet  to  learn,"  said  Florence,  "  how 
many  meanings  the  word  treason  hath  in  these  latter 
days.  Pray  heaven  she  may  never  have  cause  to  know 
it  better  I" 


Tub  Fortunkb  of  an  Irish  Ghibf. 


199 


"  You  speak  in  riddles,"  said  the  younger  lady, 
somewhat  testily  ;  "  metbinks  there  is  something  in 
this  young  Fineen's  story  that  I  have  not  heard. 
Where  is  he  now  ?" 

"  God  and  himself  knoweth,"  said  her  husband  eva- 
sively ;  "  some  there  be  who  say  he  joined  himself  t« 
soldiers  bound  for  the  Low  Countries,  and  there  died. 
For  me  I  say  not,  for  I  know  not  whether  he  be  dead 
or  living."    . 

Again  the  eyes  of  Florence  met  those  of  the  Count- 
ess and  both  smiled  in  a  way  that  each  understood. 
Florence  was  well  aware  of  the  vast  difference  be- 
tween his  wife's  intelligence  and  that  of  her  mother, 
and  it  afforded  him  a  sort  of  pleasure  to  think  that, 
without  his  committing  himself  even  to  her,  his 
mother-in-law  had  in  part  penetrated  a  secret  that 
weighed  heavily  on  his  own  care-burdened  mind.  The 
story  of  Fineen  of  Glenacrime  was  no  more  alluded  to 
in  the  family  circle. 

Most  of  the  following  day  Florence  was  absent, 
and  when,  at  late  evening,  he  returned  home,  his 
wife  urged  him  to  tell  where  he  had  b<'en. 

*'  I  have  been  to  Lord  de  Courcy's,  to  bid  him  fare- 
well before  my  departure." 

"  Why,  Florence,  it  is  but  a  day  or  two  since  you 
saw  him  !     Truly  you  do  much  affect  the  old  lord." 

Florence  smiled,  and  tacitly  admitted  the  fact.  He 
oared  not  to  tell  Iiis  gay  wife  what  w^as  soon  talked 
of  throughout  Munster,  and  written  over  and  over  to 
Queen  Elizabeth,  that  the  wily  chieftain  had  pur- 


200 


MacCarthy  Mobb;  or, 


chased  from  his  aged  friend,  the  Old  Head  of  Kinsale 
with  its  strong  castle,  the  nearest  to  Spain  of  any  on 
Irish  ground  !  Yet  this  piece  of  news  was  deemed 
by  the  English  officials  another  damning  proof  that 
Florence  McCarthy  was  "  a  cunning  and  subtle 
traitor !" 

A  few  days  more  and  Florence  had  bade  adieu  once 
more  to  the  fertile  plains  and  pleasant  waters  of  liis 
native  Carbery  and  the  rocky  shores  of  Erin  ;  he 
placed  himself  again  in  the  power  of  the  royal 
termagant  of  England,  and  appeared  openly  at  her 
court  to  defend  his  own  cause.  Many  difficulties  he 
had  to  encounter,  and  many  charges,  whether  true  or 
false,  to  answer.  He  had  been  levying  forces,  and 
putting  his  castles  in  repair, — he  had  made  himself 
master  of  Kinsale  with  its  noble  harbor,  fronting  on 
that  Spain  where  Elizabeth's  hated  and  dreaded  foe, 
Philip  the  Catholic,  ruled  in  power  and  in  might, — • 
and,  to  crown  all,  he  had  been  "  holding  parley  with 
certain  of  the  Queen's  enemies  in  Ireland." 

To  most  men,  situated  as  he  was,  these  charges 
would  have  been  overwhelming  ;  not  so  Florence 
MacCarthy.  His  answers  were  ready  :  If  he  had 
been  placing  his  country  on  a  war  footing  it  was  solely 
for  the  Queen's  service, — if  he  had  secured  the  har- 
bor and  castle  of  Kinsale,  it  was  to  keep  it  from  fall- 
ing into  the  hands  of  Her  Majesty's  enemies, — and 
as  for  his  consorting  with  rebels,  he  had  been  using 
his  poor  endeavors  to  dissuade  them  from  any  trea- 
sonable practices  agau'.st  their  gracious  sovereign! 


Tub  Fortunbs  of  an  Irish  Chief. 


201 


The  cutting  irony  of  the  last  words  was  too  finely 
pointed  for  even  Elizabeth's  astuteness  to  perceive. 

"They  are  waxing  bold,  those  northern  traitors  !" 
said  the  gentle  daughter  of  Henry  the  Eighth ; 
"  marry,  their  blood  is  over  hot, — we  must  e'en  send 
leeches  among  them  and  pliysic  them  with  fire  and 
sword, — they  have  grown  lusty  from  over-feeding, 
and  a  dose  of  starvation  will  be  for  their  benefit. 
What  of  O'Neil  and  O'Donnel  ?" 

"  Of  O'Xeil  I  have  no  knowledge,  most  gracious 
liege, — O'Donnel  I  know  somewhat,  lie  is  of  a  most 
hot  and  fierce  temper, — much  addicted  to  the  prac- 
tices of  the  old  faith  and  a  sworn  enemy  of  English 
law  and  all  civil  maimers." 

"  In  sooth,  a  goodly  picture,"  said  the  Queen,  her 
choler  rising,  as  Florence  intended  it  should.  "O'Neil 
we  know  of  old, — smooth  ana  fair-spoken  he  is,  but  a 
born  traitor  at  heart  we  find  him  to  our  cost.  God's 
death !  my  Lord  Burleigh  !" — turning  to  that  noble- 
man, who,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  Florence's  face,  stood 
gravely  listening  to  the  singular  collocpiy, — "  God's 
death  !  but  these  pestiferous  traitors  must  be  stopped 
thousch  it  cost  us  half  our  kingdom.  How  stand 
affairs  in  Munster,  Master  Florence  IMcCartie  ?" 

"I  fear  not 'over  well,  your  highness ! — the  Geral- 
dines  are  up  again,  I  hear,  with  some  eight  thousand 
fighting  men.  Rumors  there  are  of  further  disatfec- 
tion,  the  which  maketh  loyal  subjects  to  betliink 
them  of  preparing  for  tlie  worst." 

"And  you,  Master  Florence,  being  a  right  loyal 


m 


HMili 


202 


MAcCARTnY  Moke;  or, 


subject,"  said  Burleigh,  speaking  for  the  first  time, 
"  what  course  do  you  propose  to  take  for  the  further- 
ance of  the  righteous  cause  ?" 

"  W''th  me,  my  good  lord !"  said  Florence  in  a 
tone  half  thoughtful,  half  dejected,  "  it  is  but  the 
means  that  are  wanting.  Men  I  can  command  in 
plenty,  bat  the  means  of  supporting  them  I  have 
not.  The  five  years  of  my  imprisonment  hath  left 
me  a  poor  man,  and  for  my  Lord  Barry's  fine,  which 
it  pleased  Her  Majesty's  grace  to  bestow  upon  me, 
it  hath  done  me  more  harm  than  good,  for  I  have  ex- 
pended full  three  hundred  pounds  in  law  to  recover 
the  same,  yet  nothing  have  I  gained  in  return.  My 
Lord  Barry  and  his  lawyers  have  made  Her  Majesty's 
bounty  of  small  avail  to  me ;  and  were  the  loss  only 
mine,  I  were  not  here  to  speak  of  it ;  but  in  my  in- 
ability to  serve  the  Queen  as  my  father's  son  were 
bound  to  do,  I  could  think  of  nothing  but  an  ap- 
peal to  her  justice  and  clemency^'' — there  was  the 
slightest  possible  curl  on  Florence's  lip  as  he  said 
this, — "  to  enable  me  to  defend  her  cause  and  mine 


?» 


own. 

"  Before  God,  my  Lord  Burleigh  !  he  shall  have 
what  powers  he  will  to  aid  our  cause ! — See  to  it 
that  this  Barry  be  kept  from  working  further  mis- 
chief to  Master  Florence  McCartie !" 

So  ended  the  audience.  Barry's  charges  might, 
at  another  time,  have  thrown  Florence  again  into 
the  Tower, — now,  in  the  fears  growing  out  of  the 
increasing  troubles  in  Ireland,  fears  which  Florence 


TiiK  Fortunes  op  an  Irish  Chief. 


203 


himself  had  skilfully  wrought  upon  for  his  own 
advantage,  the  wily  Tanist  went  back  to  his  own 
country  not  only  exonerated  from  blame  (at  least 
for  the  present)  but  with  the  prestige  of  renewed 
favor  at  court,  and  ample  powers  from  the  Queen. 

The  autumn  was  far  advanced  when  Florence 
landed  once  more  on  the  coast  of  Desmond,  and  im- 
mediately the  news  spread  abroad  that  all  the 
undertakers  in  his  country  were  soon  to  be  dispos- 
sessed of  the  lands  they  had  so  cavalierly  seized 
and  so  sturdily  held.  Florence  MacCarthy  was 
high  in  court  favor,  so  rumor  said,  and  any  passing 
day  might  brin^  the  gentlemen  "  squatters  "  on  his 
estates  "  notice  to  quit."  His  singular  preparations, 
as  if  for  active  service,  were  renewed  with  fresh 
activity,  and  as  rumors  of  war  and  rebellion  came 
sullenly  up  from  the  far  North,  all  eyes  began  to 
turn  to  this  most  peaceful  and  law-abiding  Munster 
chief,  the  young  Tanist  of  MacCarthy  Rcagh's 
country.  The  strange  uncertainty  that  even  then 
attended  all  his  movements, — the  deep  depths  in 
which  his  designs  lay  hid,  gave  him  an  importance 
independent  even  of  his  position  as  a  powerful  and 
influential  branch  of  one  of  the  first  of  the  Munster 
Bepts.  Another  rebellion  was  brewing  North  and 
South,  and  the  course  tliat  Florence  MacCarthy 
would  take  was  of  great  importance  to  friend  and 
foe. 

Such  was  the  state  of  things  when  our  hero  was 
summoned,  one  bleak,  wild  day  in  late  November 


^^T^ 


20^ 


MacCarthy  Morr;  or, 


to  the  bedside  of  llie  Earl  of  Clancartliv  who  was 
dangerously  ill.  Lady  Ellen  had  been  for  a  week 
before  at  Pallice  Castle. 

One  glance  at  the  aged  chieftain  convinced 
Florence  that  there  all  was  nearly  over;  the  closed 
eyes,  the  laboring  breath,  the  sunken  cheeks  and 
dilated  nostrils,  sliowed  all  too  plainly  that  the  first 
Earl  of  Clancarthy  was  passing  away.  His  wife  and 
daughter  sat  near,  the  former  pale  and  silent,  with 
her  eyes  fixed  on  the  face  that  had  once  been  very 
dear, — now  fast  changing  into  clay ;  her  daughter, 
with  eyes  and  cheeks  red  with  weeping,  for  the 
father  who,  with  all  his  faults,  and  they  were  many 
and  great,  had  ever  been  as  kind  to  her  as  his  rough 
nature  permitted. 

Silently  and  sorrowfully  Florence  joined  the 
watchers,  and  for  the  little  time  that  the  Earl's  spirit 
yet  remained  in  the  flesh,  he  never  left  his  side.  In 
a  whisper  he  asked  the  Countess  whether  a  priest 
had  been  brought.  The  pale  sad  face  brightened  a 
moment  as  the  lady  replied  : 

"  Truly  yes,  God  sent  us  a  priest ;  Father  McEgan 
had  come  hither  but  yester  eve,  and  it  pleased  God 
to  give  Donald  the  grace  of  repentance ;  he  hath 
made  a  good  confession,  as  the  Father  tells  us,  and 
received  some  hours  since  the  holy  viaticum.  All 
that  can  be  done  to  prepare  him  is  done,  and  while 
he  could  speak,  or  knew  anything,  he  ceased  not  to 
crave  pardon  of  God,  and  of  me,  his  poor  wife.  God 
lie  kuoweth  how  I  forgive  him  all — all  1" 


TflR   FORTDNKS   OF    AN   IrISII    ClIIKP. 


205 


"  Said  lie  aught  of  the  succession  ?" 

"  Fineen  !"  muttered  the  dying  man,  as  though  hi ', 
ears  had  caught  the  sound — "  Fineen — MacCartliy 
More — no  Earl — Ilonora  !  poor  wife  ! — forgive — 
Jesus !  Mary !" 

A  gasp,  a  shudder,  a  convulsive  motion  of  the 
limbs,  and  Donald  MacCarthy  More  had  gone  to 
meet  his  Judge.  The  prayers  for  the  Dead  were 
recited, — reverently  and  tenderly  his  wife  closed 
his  eyes,  and  all  was  over  for  the  Earl  of  Desmond. 

4c  ^:  He  :|c  4<  ^c 

In  the  chancel  of  the  ruined  Abbey  of  Muoruss  or 
"  Irrelagh  of  the  MacCarthys,"  by  Killarney's  fair 
waters,  the  traveller  even  of  to-day  may  see  a  plain 
tombstone,  "  with  some  attempt  at  heraldric  device," 
says  a  modern  writer,  "  and  much  defaced  by  the 
feet  of  passing  generations  since  it  was  laid  there ; 
the  eye  can  still,  however,  discern  a  sculptured  Irish 
crown,  surmounting  an  equally  rude  earl's  cornet  and 
escutcheon  of  arms.  Modern  care  has  guarded  it 
from  further  defacement,  by  crossing  the  stone  with 
some  bars  of  iron,  which  now  receive  the  tread  of 
the  rude  peasant  or  careless  tourist,  when  trampling 
on  the  memorial  which  tells  us  that  an  Irish  cliief- 
tain,  metamorphosed  into  a  belted  English  noble, 
sleeps  below.  It  is  the  Earl  of  Clancarthy  who 
lies  here  entombed,  the  first  and  the  last  so  entitled."* 

The  death  of  this  powerful  chieftain  is  thus  re- 
corded in  the  "  Annals  of  the  Four  Masters :" 


M^ 


9 


*  Lake  Lore,  pp.  48-60. 


■ 


206 


MaoCarthy  Morb;  or, 


"  A.  D.  1596,  MacCarthy  More  died,  namely,  Donal, 
the  son  of  Donal,  son  of  Cormac  Ladrach,  son  of 
Teige  ;  and  although  he  was  called  MacCartie  More, 
he  had  been  honorably  created  Earl  before  that 
time,  by  command  of  the  sovereign  of  England.  lie 
left  no  male  heir  after  him,  who  would  be  appointed 
his  successor,  and  only  one  daughter,  who  became 
the  wife  of  the  son  of  MacCarthy  Reagh,  namely, 
Fineen,  and  all  were  of  opinion  that  he  was  heir  of 
that  MacCarthy  who  died,  namely,  Donal." 

Little  goodf  was  to  be  said  of  this  last  of  a  long 
line  of  princely  chieftains  in  his  lifetime,  but  his 
death  was  the  death  of  a  repentant  sinner,  and  his 
wife  and  daughter  mourned  him  for  the  memory 
of  his  L  tter  days. 

+  It  is  not  generally  known,  even  to  those  students  of  Irish  his- 
tory to  whom  the  name  of  Donald,  first  Earl  of  Clancarthy,  is 
familiar,  that  he  was  somewhat  of  a  poet,  and  that  two  poems  of 
his,  wliich,  from  their  religious  character,  must  have  been  written 
in  his  later  and  better  days,  are  still  preserved.  They  are  both  in 
the  Irish  language.  One  is  entitled — "A  sorrowful  vision  hatli 
deceived  n-e'^ — and  the  other,  "Alas!  alas!  0  benign  Mary!"  a 
pious  and  penitent  address  to  Our  blessed  Lady.— ^ee  Transac- 
tions of  the  tbavw-  Celtic  Society. 


Thi  Fobtumis  of  an  Ibish  CuiBF. 


207 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

Tub  news  of  thcvEjii'l  of  Clancarthy's  death  raised 
a  perfect  whirlwind  of  excitement  in  the  whole  of 
South  Munster ;  Protestant  bishops,  English  under- 
takers, Irish  relatives,  all  were  forthwith  up  and 
doing,  in  hopes  of  gaining  a  share  of  the  mighty 
spoil.  Since  the  confiscation  of  the  Desmond  Oeral- 
dine  estates,  after  the  tragic  death  of  Earl  Gerald 
of  Desmond,  the  Great  Rebel,  no  such  windfall  had 
come  to  the  rapacious  vultures  whose  ordinary  prey 
was  Irish  confiscations.  Even  the  redoubtable 
Donal,  the  Earl's  "  base  son,"  the  outlaw  whose 
dwelling  had  been  in  the  wild  fastnesses  where  Eng- 
lish law  could  not  r'^ach,  and  whose  life  had  been 
like  IshmaePs,  his  hana  against  every  man,  and  every 
man's  hand  against  him, — now  arrayed  himself  in 
English  garments,  and  emerged  from  his  wild  re- 
treats as  a  claimant,  no  less !  for  the  captaincy  of  the 
Clan  Carthy,  and  the  vast  estates  of  its  deceased 
chief,  who,  having  left  no  legitimate  male  issue, 
Donal  considered  himself  the  rightful  heir.  A  curi- 
ous sight  it  was  when  the  fierce  outlaw,  the  Robin 
Hood  of  Munster,  presented  hunself,  in  the  ordinary 
dress  of  an  English  gentleman  of  those  days,  before 
the  Vice-President  in  Cork  city,  to  make  his  sub- 
mission to  the  Queen,  and  put  in  his  claim  to  his 
father's  hereditary  title  and  the  fami.y  possessions ! — 


208 


MacCaiitiiy  More;  or, 


Very  composedly  he  was  Ijc.ird,  and  with  no  disfavor, 
by  the  wily  otlicial,  for  English  policy  then  was  to 
encourage  all  claimants  to  the  estates  of  the  great 
Irish  lords  in  order  to  promote  discord  and  strife 
amoii'jjst  "  the  mere  Irish." 

But  of  all  tlie  claimants  to  the  late  Earl's  posses- 
sions, the  most  feared  by  all  the  others  was  the  one 
who  was  least  noisy  in  asserting  his  claims,  the  hus- 
band of  the  Earl's  only  legitimate  child.  All  the 
others  were  banded  against  him.  In  those  days,  with 
the  fear  of  Florence  before  their  eyes,  wrote  to  the 
English  IVivy  Council,  the  Bishop  of  Ardfert,  the 
Brownes  and  others  (we  modernize  their  quaint 
language) : 

"  Right  Honorable,  and  our  singular  good  Lords, 

most  humbly  craving  pardon,  we  have  presumed, 

understanding    that   Florence   McCartie   prepareth 

himself  to  be  a  suitor,  under  Her  Majesty  and  your 

Honors,  for  the  lands  and  honor  of  the  late  deceased 

Earl  of  Clancarthy,  to  set  down  unto  your  Honors 

the  state  of  the  country,  as  also  the  condition  of  the 

party,  with  the  nature  of  the  people,  the  troubles 

may  ensue  unto  Her  Majesty  and  State,  with  the 

miseries  like  to  fall  upon  us  poor  English  Gentlemen, 

and   all   English  inhabitants  here   dwelling.     The 

country,  a  great  continent  of  great  fastnesses  and 

strengths,    and  the   said  Florence   already  Tanist 

of  Carbery,  a  country  almost  as  great  as  the  Earl's, 

and  all  these  whose  names  are  here  inclosed*  being 

*  It  may  not  be  uninteresting  to  read  the  names  "  inclosed  "  by 
the  Engiirili  bisliop  of  Ardfert  aud  the  Kerry  undertakera.    TUe 


Tub  Fortunbs  op  an  Irish  Ciiibf. 


209 


Lords  of  Countries,  and  great  commanders,  his  allies 
and  followers  I  The  gentleman  liimself,  a  .most 
notable  Papist,  and  a  favorer  of  all  superstitious 
manner  of  living,  brought  up  with  his  uncle,  James 
FitzMaurice,  and  his  conversation  hath  been  much 
with  men  not  well  affected  unto  Her  Majesty.  Him- 
self and  all  his  house  came  out  of  Spain." 

An  English  official.  Sir  Geoffry  Fenton,  also  wrote 
Uj  Sir  Robert  Cecil,  in  the  spring  following  the 
Earl's  death  :  "The  Earl  of  Clancarthy,  a  great  lord 
in  Munster,  being  now  dead,  and  Florence  McCarthy, 
by  marrying  with  his  heir  general,  having  an  ap- 
parent pretence  to  the  Earldom,  I  fear  some  altera- 
tion will  grow  in  those  parts  by  Florence,  who  is 
more  Spanish  than  English  ;  and  I  received  this  day 
advice  from  Munster  that  Florence  already  begins 
to  stir  coals,  in  which  respect  I  wish  your  Honor  to 
advise  with  my  Lord  Treasurer  out  of  hand,  to  have 
him  either  sent  for  thither,  or  some  special  letter 
written  to  the  -Lord  President  of  Munster  to  lay 
hold  of  him,  to  make  stay  of  him  in  his  person,  or 
to  see  him  assured  upon  good  pledges  ;  for  without 

**  inclosure,"  as  now  in  the  State  Paper  Oflice,  is — "  A  l?not  of 
Buch  as  are  Lords  of  countries,  bcinjj^  h  incon  McCartie's  kinsmen, 
atid  followers  of  the  Earl  of  Clancarthy,  within  Desmond  and  the 
County  of  Cork  adjoining;  upon  Desmond :  Cormac  McDermod 
and  Teague  McDeruiod  (Fineen's  aunt's  sons) ;  O'SuUivan  More, 
married  to  Fineen's  sister:  O'Sulllvan  Beare;  O'Donotfhoe  of  the 
Glens;  McGilUcuddy;  MeCrehon  ;  MacGillo  Niwhm;  McDonnell; 
Hugh  Cormac  of  Dungwill ;  Clan  Dermod ;  Clan  Lawraa ;  Hugh 
Donuell  Brik ;  McFinau  ;  McFinan  Dhu  ;  Clan  Teago  Kcttas  ; 
McDonogh  Barret;  MeAuUlFe ;  O'Keefc;  O'Callaghan;  O'Daly, 
with  many  others,  and  allied  by  hinxself  and  his  wife  unto  most 
of  Uie  noblemen  in  Ireland," 


"•V 


y^ff?"^^ 


210 


MacCabthy  Mors;  ob, 


one  of  these  two  preventions  I  look  that  ho  will  be 
a  dangerous  Robin  Hood  in  Munster." 

I'lorence  did  not  wait  to  be  "  laid  hold  of,"  for  he 
immediately  set  out  post  haste  for  London,  having 
first  provided  himself  with  a  letter  of  recommenda- 
tion from  Sir  Thomas  Norreys — not  aware,  possibly, 
that  Donal  McCarthy  had  received  just  such  another 
only  a  day  or  two  previous. 

It  was  before  the  Privy  Council  that  Florence  Mac- 
Carthy  presented  his  claim  in  person  to  the  lands  of 
his  lato  father-in-law.  Very  gravely  the  Lords  lis- 
tened while  he,  in  true  legal  phraseology,  advanced 
his  reasons,  and  to  him,  at  least,  they  were  very  con- 
clusive, why  he,  and  he  only,  should  be  recognized  as 
the  Earl's  heir. 

After  a  short  consultation  among  themselves,  the 
Lords  announced  to  the  apparently  calm  expectant 
that  although  Her  Majesty  might  be  graciously 
pleased  to  waive  her  claim  to  lands  which,  by  the 
Earl's  death,  lapsed  to  her,  there  were  other  claim- 
ants thereto  besides  Master  Florence  MacCarthy. 
There  was  the  aged  Countess  to  be  provided  for,  and 
there  were  the  lands  bequeathed  by  the  Earl  to  his 
base  son,  Donal,  known  as  the  Castle  Lough  estate, 
the  which  Donal  was  in  Londi.  a  to  petition  for ;  lastly, 
there  was  one  still  greater  difficulty  in  the  way,  viz. : 
that  the  Queen  herself  had,  ten  years  before,  given  a 
patent  for  the  Earl's  lands  to  the  late  Sir  Valentine 
Brown  and  his  son  Nicholas ! 

This  last  fact  was  brought  out  with  an  air  of 


TUR   FOUTUNKS   OV    AN    Iui8U    CuiKF. 


211 


triumph  that  did  not  escape  tlie  keen  and  practised 
eyes  of  Florence.  Not  a  trace  of  emotion  was  visi- 
ble on  his  face,  yet  a  tierce  delight  was  burning  in  his 
heart  as  he  replii'd  : 

"  Concerning  this  j)atcnt  of  Master  Browne,  now 
Sir  Nicholas,  if  it  bo  us  I  liave  lieard,  it  can  no- 
wise art'ect  my  claim.  Could  I  but  have  sight  of  the 
document,  methinks  I  could  convince  your  lordships 
that  the  patent  is  not  a  valid  one." 

T;  »  patent  was  produced,  for,  as  Florence  well 
knew,  ]>rowne  had  transmitted  it  to  the  Council  with- 
out delay.  Word  by  word  it  was  conned  over,  pa- 
tiently and  slowly,  till  Florence  placed  his  linger  on 
a  word,  and  smiled  blandly  as  Sir  Francis  Walsing- 
ham  read  aloud — "  Should  the  Earl  die  without  heirs^ 
then  is  the  Seignory  to  pass  to  Sir  Valentine  J5rowue 
and  his  heirs  forever  !" 

Florence  furtively  watched  the  lords  while  they 
exchanged  signilicant  glances.  Seeing  that  no  one 
spoke,  he  spoke  himself. 

"  Methinks  Sir  Nicholas  Browme  might  kave  saved 
your  lordships  the  trouble  of  examining  this  patent. 
He  knew  full  well  that  the  Earl  of  Clancarthy  left 
heirs.  Ay !  marry,  and  heirs  male,  seeing  that  his 
daughter  is  now  the  mother  of  four  sons,  all  of  whom 
are  sound  in  mind  and  body,  and  as  likely  to  live  as 
any  in  Munster." 

"  The  gentleman  is  right,"  said  Lord  Treasurer 
Burleigh,  with  a  grim  smile ;  "  Sir  Valentine  and  his 
lawyer  were  for  once  at  fault.     Master  Florence  Mo- 


212 


MacCaBTHY   MoBEf   OR, 


Cartie,  the  matter  awaits  tlie  Queen's  pleasure.  It 
shall  be  brought  forthwith  under  her  hifjhness's  no- 
tice." 

Florence  bowed  his  thanks  for  this  non-committal 
promise,  and  withdrew,  leaving  Her  Majesty's  Privy 
Councillors,  as  he  well  knew,  to  discuss  amongst 
themselves  the  possibility  of  setting  his  claim  aside 
in  favor  of  their  royal  mistress,  lie  had  reached 
the  door  when  he  turned  back,  and,  as  if  with  sudden 
recollection  of  some  very  unimportant  matter,  said, 
with  well-feigned  indiflfcrence  : 

*'  I  humbly  crave  your  lordships'  pardon,  but  by  a 
strange  oversight,  I  forgot  to  give  my  Lord  Treasurer 
a  letter  from  the  Earl  of  Ormond,  and  Sir  Robert 
this  from  Sir  Thomas  Norreys."  And  he  presented 
both  with  as  perfect  coolness  and  composure  as  though 
their  contents  nothing  concerned  him.  Before  the 
letters  were  read  he  had  bowed  himself  out  of  the 
Council  Chamber. 

Let  us  remain  for  a  brief  space  amongst  the  noble 
advisers  of  Queen  Elizabeth.  While  Sir  llobert 
Cecil  read  Norrey's  communication  with  the  impas- 
sible coolness  of  a  man  who  saw  notliing  particular 
in  what  he  read,  his  father  was  evidently  disturbed 
by  what  he  saw.  As  he  glanced  over  the  letter  before 
him,  his  brow  contracted,  a  faint  flush  suffused  his 
deeply-furrowed  cheek,  nnd  his  hands  shook  with 
nervous  excitement.  There  was  dead  silence  in  the 
Council  Chamber,  and  every  eye  was  turned  on  the 
hged  statesman. 


Tub  Fortunks  of  an  Irish  Ciiibp. 


213 


iness  s  110- 


"  My  Ioi'cIh  !"  he  said  at  length,  "  thei'e  is  that  m 
this  letter  whieh  demands  prompt  attention.  My 
Lord  of  Ormond  seemetli  much  to  desire  that  this 
Florence  McCartie  shall  be  sent  back  to  Ireland  as 
soon  as  may  be,  and  that  he  be  favored  in  this  mat- 
ter of  the  succession.  Tiie  nobleman  seemeth  to  ap- 
prehend danger,  the  which  your  lordships  may  per- 
ceive from  his  letter."     And  he  read  aloud : 

"  This  bearer  Florence  McCarthy  is  now  to  make 
repair  into  England  about  some  suit  of  his  own, 
which,  in  regard  to  this  dangerous  time,  he  may  be 
hardly  spared  from  hence.  lam  heartily  to  pray  you 
to  favor  him  in  his  lawful  suits,  and  that  he  may  be 
dispatched  from  thence ;  whom  I  leave  to  your  favor- 
able regard,  and  so  I  commit  you  to  God's  most 
blessed  guiding. 

"From  Dubiin,  this  18th  June,  1598. 

"  Yo  ar  fast  assured  friend, 

"Thomas,  Ormois^d  and  Ossoky." 

The  faces  of  Her  Majesty's  noble  councillors  length- 
ened considerably  as  this  alai.ning  document  was 
read  by  the  Lord  Treasurer — in  a  voice  that  even  his 
habitual  self-control  could  not  render  steady.  Tliat 
very  afternoon,  Burleigh  had  an  interview  with  Her 
Majesty,  and  on  the  following  day  Florence  Mac- 
Carthy  was  again  before  the  Queen  in  person,  sum- 
moned to  icive  an  account  of  the  circumstances  that 
had  ffiven  rise  to  Lord  Ormond's  ominous  letter. 

There  was  a  thunder-cloud  on  the  royal  brow  aa 


■4 
.11 


h 


2U 


MacCarthy  More;  or. 


the  Queen  bent  her  searching  glance  on  Florence 
MacCarthy.  Very  meek  and  submissive  was  the 
face  of  the  Tanist  of  Carbery,  as  he  bent  before  the 
throne,  but  within  himself  he  was  saying :  "  Be  as 
angry  as  thou  wilt,  Elizabeth  Tudor !  angrier  yet  I 
hope  to  make  thee  ere  we  part  company." 

"  How  now,  Master  Florence,"  said  the  royal  vixen ; 
"  what  troubles  are  these  we  hear  of  from  our  realm 
of  Ireland  ?  My  Lord  Ormond,  our  right  worthy 
Lieutenant-General,  is  much  disturbed  on  account  of 
some  traitorous  doings  there,  as  we  learn  from  his 
letter  brought  by  you  to  our  Lord  Treasurer." 

"  Most  gracious  liege,"  said  Florence,  with  eyes 
cast  down  in  deep  humility,  as  it  seemed,  but  really 
to  hide  the  fierce  exultation  that  burned  in  their  dark 
depths ;"  most  gracious  liege,  your  royal  subjects  in 
Ireland  are  sore  afraid  of  evil  days  coming.  O'Neil 
and  O'Donnel  are  up  at  last,  and  with  them  all  the 
Northern  Province,  while  in  Munster,  the  Geraldines 
ha\  e  taken  the  field  under  the  banne'"  of  one  James 
Fitzgerald,  nephew  of  the  late  rebel  Earl  of  Des- 
mond, whom  O'Neil  hath  made  Earl  of  Desmond." 

Old  and  decrepid  as  she  was,  with  her  seventy 
years  of  life,  and  forty  of  royalty,  bending  down  her 
once  stately  form,  Elizabeth  started  to  her  feet  with 
all  the  fierce  fire  of  her  younger  days. 

"  Man  I  what  saidst  thou  ?"  she  cried,  stamping  her 
foot,  her  voice  hoarse  with  rage ;  "  O'Neil  did  not 
dare  to  make  an  Earl  of  Desmond  I" 

"  My  liege  !  I  have  told  you  truly,"  said  Florence 


TUE   FORTUNKS   OF    AN    IrISH    CiIIKP. 


2!5 


with  relentless  pcilinacity,---"  and  niore  than  that 
hath  he  done.  He  hath  made  Donal  McCarthy,  my 
wife's  base  brother,  MacCarthy  More  !" 

Elizabeth  clenched  both  hands  as  they  hung  on 
either  side  at  full  length,  while  she  paced  the  floor 
with  nostrils  dilated,  eyes  burning  like  living  coals 
and  glaring  like  a  tiger's.  A  fearful  oath  burst  from 
her  parched  lips,  but,  for  some  moments,  more  she 
could  not  find  voice  to  say.  To  and  fro  she  strode 
with  that  firm,  manlike  gait  that  had  distinguished 
her  through  life,  broken  now  by  fury  as  well  as  age, 
the  hands,  still  extended,  opening  and  closing  convul- 
sively. All  at  once  she  stopped  in-  front  of  Flor- 
ence, and  said  with  a  violent  effort  to  control  her 


rage — 


"  And  you.  Master  Florence  MacCarthy  ! — what 
hath  this  mighty  O'Neil  done  for  you  ? — Come !  out 
with  the  secret,  man  ! — What  lands  and  titles  hath 
he  awarded  to  you  ?" 

"  None,  my  gracious  liege,  none !"  was  the  prompt 
rejoinder ;  "  it  hath  not  been  my  fortune  to  find  favor 
in  his  sight,  as  hath  Donal  McCarthy  and  James 
FitzTliomas !" 

"  What  think  you,  my  Lord  Burleigh !"  said  the 
Queen,  turning  to  that  nobleman  who  stood  by  a 
silent,  but  attentive,  listener.  "  Shall  we  leave 
O'Neil's  MacCarthy  to  enjoy  his  honors,  or  send 
Master  Florence  into  Ireland,  with  power  from  us  to 
take  possession  of  the  Earl's  lands  ?" 

"  Your  grace's  wisdom  will  dictate  the  proper 


IP 


■1 


W 
rm 

•  MM' 


11 


216 


MacCartiiy  More;  or, 


course,"  said  llie  aged  statesman,  with  his  wonted 
cool  caution. 

"  Ay,  many,  and  Master  McCartie  shall  hear  of 
it  full  soon,"  cried  Elizabeth,  still  wroth,  but  graci- 
ously disposed  towards  the  man  wnom  she  meant  to 
use  as  a  foil  for  O'ISI  eil's  MacCarthy. 

Day  by  day  Florence  awaited  the  fulfilment  of  the 
Queen's  promise,  but  many  days  passed,  and  still  he 
found  himself  lianging  about  the  Court  in  precisely 
the  same  state  of  suspense,  nothing  gaining,  but 
much  losing.  lie  took  to  his  old  trade  of  petition- 
ing, but  petitioning  was  of  no  avail ;  still  no  answer 
came  from  the  Queen.  Days  passed  into  weeks,  and 
his  anxiety  increased  in  proportion  to  the  lapse  of 
time,  knowing  that  events  were  transpiring  in  Ire- 
land that  made  his  presence  there  more  than  ever 
necessary. 

One  day  Florence  received  a  summons  to  repair 
in  all  haste  to  Greenwich  Palace.  When  the  mes- 
sage reached  him  he  was  in  a  state  of  excitement  all 
unusual  with  him,  pacing  his  small  apartment  to  and 
fro  after  the  manner  of  a  caged  lion,  muttering  wild 
words  to  himself  in  the  forbidden  language  of  old 
Spain,  ano  looking  as  though  the  warrior  spirit  of  his 
race  had  suddenly  passed  into  his  usually  inert 
frame.  Hearing  the  message,  which  came  to  him  in 
the  name  of  Sir  Robert  Cecil,  he  bowed  very  calmly 
and  said  he  would  wait  on  Sir  Robert  without  dealy. 
But  when  the  messenger  was  gone,  he  burst  into  a 
sort  of  derisive  laugh,  tli^.t  sounded  strange  from 


Tub  Fortunes  of  an  Irish  Cuiep. 


217 


one  so  staid  and  so  subdued  in  his  ordinary  bearing. 
Not  one  word  he  said,  but  composing  his  features  as 
best  he  might,  lie  betook  himself  to  the  palace. 

He  was  well  pleased  to  find  that  it  was  only  Sir 
Robert  Cecil  he  had  to  encounter  that  day.  Even 
Florence  Mac^  arthy  dreaded  the  all-plcrcing  eyes 
of  the  royal  Elizabeth.  Cecil  junior  looked  rest- 
less and  ill  at  ease.    He  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"  I  sent  for  you  now,  Mr.  Florence  McCartie,"  he 
said,  endeavoring,  but  in  vain,  to  appear  perfectly 
composed,  "  for  that  the  Queen  hath  been  graciously 
pleased  to  consider  your  claim  for  loyal  service  ren- 
dered ;  it  is  her  will  that  you  now  take  possession  of  the 
lands  owned  by  your  late  father-in-law,  the  Earl  of 
Clancarthy,  the  title  to  remain  in  abeyance  for 
future  jonsideration." 

Florence  shook  his  head.  "  I  fear  her  Majesty's 
bounty  is  somewhat  late.  Donal  McCarthy  has 
taken  upon  himself  the  style  and  title  of  MacCarthy 
More,  sanctioned  by  O'Neil,  a  portion  of  whose 
army  is  even  now  marching  into  Munster.  What 
can  I  do  now,  I  who  have  not  even  the  means  of 
going  back  to  Ireland  ?  What  I  might  have  done 
for  the  Queen,  had  I  been  in  mine  own  country,  and 
master  of  mine  OAvn  and  my  wife's  inheritance,  I  say 
not  now,  for  it  were  idle  to  talk  of  opportunities 
lost.  When  I  might  have  done  somewhat  for  my 
self  or  others,  I  was  here  in  London  where  I  could 
serve  no  one." 

"  Nevertheless,  it  is  the  Queen's  royal  will  that  yon 


i  II 

I    If 


mvimsmm 


\ 


218 


MacCartiiy  Morr;  or, 


w 


'  M ' 


C90  into  Ireland  without  delay,  and  to  further  your 
doing  so,  I  am  to  give  you  wherewith  to  bear  your 
ex})euses  tliitlier." 

Florence  coolly  pocketed  the  order  for  one  hundred 
p^our.Js  which  Elizabeth,  in  her  close  regard  to  money, 
doubtless  considered  a  high  price  for  the  loyal  service 
she  expected  from  one  of  the  first  lords  in  Munster — 
at  a  time  when  her  rule  in  Ireland  was  in  imminent 
danger  of  coming  to  an  end.  He  looked  at  Cecil  with 
a  smile  which  even  that  wily  courtier  found  it  hard 
to  understand. 

"  I  know  not,"  said  Florence, "  whether  your  Honor 
or  the  Queen's  highness  hath  heard  the  evil  tidings." 

"  What  tidings  ?"  asked  Cecil  with  well-feigned 
curiosity. 

"  How  the  Northern  rebels  under  O'Neil  have  de- 
feated the  Queen's  troops  on  the  banks  of  the  Black- 
water,  and  are  now  besieging  the  strongest  fort  in 
Ulster.  Truly,  O'Neil  hath  come  out  of  his  shell 
sooner  than  friend  or  foe  expected." 

"  Somewhat  of  his  traitorous  deeds  her  Majesty 
hath  heard,"  said  Cecil  carelessly,  "  but  my  Lord  of 
Ormond  hath  received  orders  to  proceed  without  de- 
lay against  the  rebels,  and  we  hope  to  hear  a  good 
account  of  them  soon." 

"  I  pray  God  you  may !"  said  Florence  MacCarthy 
with  a  fervor  that  quite  charmed  Sir  Robert  Cecil. 
Practised  as  he  was  himself  in  the  art  of  dissimula- 
tion, he  could  not  read  the  deep  heart  of  Florence 
MacCarthy.   So  he  took  it  for  granted  that  the  Tanist 


Tub  Fortunks  of  an  Ibisu  Ciiibf. 


219 


of  Carbeiy  was  as  loyally  anxious  for  the  defeat  of 
the  iusurufont  chiefs  as  he  was  himself. 

It  was  truly  "  diamond  cut  diamond"  between  the 
two.  Cecil  knew  tliat  the  rebellion  had  already  as- 
sumed a  most  formidable  aspect ;  that  the  Northern 
chiefs,  Hushed  with  victory,  were  preparing  to  march 
into  Munster,  where  the  Avhole  province  awaited  but 
their  coming  to  rise  almost  as  one  man ;  that  Con 
naught,  never  reliable  to  English  interests,  was  as 
good  as  lost,  and  that  e\  en  in  semi-Norraan  Leinster 
the  "disaffected"  were  in  the  majority.  He  also 
knew  that  the  Queen  had  no  forces  in  Ireland  to  re- 
sist this  threatened  storm;  but  it  never  occurred 
to  his  mind,  sagacious  as  it  was,  tliat  Florence 
MacCarthy  knew  more  of  the  matter  than  ho 
did.  \ 

Those  were  the  days  when,  according  to  the  histo- 
rian Camden,  "  the  condition  of  Ireland  was  in  a 
manner  desperate,  for  almost  the  whole  nation  was 
broke  out  into  rebellion ;"  when  Elizabeth  and  her 
Council  were  day  by  day  informed  that  "  Tyrone  re- 
ceiveth  letters  from  the  King  of  Scots  ;"  "  Scotland 
beareth  up  this  rebellion ;"  "  the  King  of  Spain  bear- 
eth  a  great  sting  of  mind  against  her  Majesty,"  and 
when  every  letter  that  reached  the  gentle  Tudor  prin- 
cess from  her  trusty  servants  in  Ireland  was  filled 
with  complaints  of  "  the  lamentable  state  of  this  ac- 
cursed country."  "  The  enemy  is  grown  insolent 
and  intractable  ;"  wrote  one,  "  in  discipline,  and 
weapons,  he  is  little  inferior  to  us  ;  the  men  of  most 


:•'•  ''I 


p. 


>    i 


1  ra 


/ 


220 


MacCartuy  More;  or, 


ppirit  follow  tlie  rebels,  and  leave  the  rascals  to  the 
Quoeii's  service."* 

Much  of  this  general  state  of  things,  Florence  Mac- 
Ciirthy  well  knew,  and  of  the  particular  affairs  in  his 
own  province  he  knew  more  than  either  Cecil  or  the 
Queen,  but  what  he  did  not  know  was  the  relative 
strength  of  the  national  army  ready  to  be  marshalled 
by  the  powerful  chieftain  of  Tyrone,  and  the  ill-ap- 
pointed horde  of  "  ragged  rascals  "  literally  and  truly, 
on  whom  depended  the  maintenance  of  British  power 
in  Ireland.  How  could  Florence  MacCarthy  have 
realized  the  fact  that  whereas  the  rebels  in  the  four 
provinces  had  well-nigh  twenty  thousand  men  under 
arms,  trained  and  disciijlined  as  their  enemies  admit- 
ted them  to  be,  Lieutenant-General  Lord  Ormond 
had  no  more  than  eight  or  nine  thousand  of  the 
"  rascals  "  who  alone  "  followed  the  Queen's  service !" 
Cecil  knew  this,  and  the  Council  knew  it,  and  the 
Queen  had  the  niortification  of  knowing  it,  too,  when 
she  sent  her  dole  to  the  nobey-connected  Tanist  of 
Carbery,  to  enable  him  to  return  to  his  country  after 
his  long  and  wearisome  waiting  in  London  for  an 
answer  that  perchance  would  never  have  come  had 
not  Donal  MacCarthy,  the  usurper  of  the  chieftain- 
ship, taken  sides  with  O'Neil. 

Florence  MacCarthy  was  well  pleased  when  he 
found  hhuself  alone  that  evening  in  the  quiet  of  his 
hmmble  lodgings.     Long  he  sat  musing  with  his  head 

*  Sir  H.  Brounker,  as  quoted  from  the  State  Papers  by  Daniel 
MacCarthy  in  his  "  Life  and  Letters  of  Florence  MacCarthj 
More." 


TuE  Fortunes  of  an  Irish  Chiep. 


221 


resting  on  liis  hand,  his  face  expressing  more  plainly 
than  he  usually  permitted  it  to  do,  the  thoughts  that 
passed  in  quick  succession  through  his  restless  mind.* 
At  times  his  thoughts  escaped  in  words,  lialf  uncon- 
sciously to  himself,  and  he  would  start  from  his  seat 
and  pace  the  floor  with  slow  step  and  thoughtful 
mien.  His  own  affairs  and  those  of  his  country  were 
strangely  mingled  in  his  mind. 

"  Truly  Donal  hath  it  all  his  own  way,"  he  said 
with  a  contemptuous  smile ;  "  with  O'Neil  at  his 
back,  and  Clan  Carthy  at  liis  foot,  he  must  needs 
fancy  himself  a  great  man.  It  well  beseemeth  his 
mother's  son  to  head  the  men  of  Desmond  I — ^Mac- 
Carthy  More  ! — Donal  the  base-born — the  sleuth- 
hound  of  the  sept — the  wild  outlaw — truly  we  are 
much  beholden  to  O'Neil !  A  rare  captain  hath  he 
given  to  Clan  Caura.  But  he  and  Donal  shall  find 
that  even  O'Neil  is  not  kinc:  in  Desmond.  So  lona: 
as  O'Sullivan  holdeth  out  for  me,  Donal  may  play 
MacCarthy  More  an'  welcome.  His  reign  will  but 
last  till  I  come." 

He  arose  and  resumed  his  march,  with  head  bent 
forward  and  hands  crossed  behind  his  back.  After 
awhile  he  stopped  short  and  muttered  again,  in  pur- 
suance of  another  train  of  thought — "the  Queen 
would  send  me  back  now,  hoping  to  use  me,  her 
loyal  servitor,"  and  he  laughed  a  bitter  mocking 
laugh,  "  against  O'Neil  whom,  in  her  wisdom,  she 
thinks  hath  made  me  his  enemy  by  favoring  Donal. 
Ha !  ha ! — they  will  find  us  none  such  bad  friends 


222 


MacCartuy  Mork;  ob, 


when  all  is  told  ! — And  Elizabeth  mnst  do  somewhat 
more  than  scMidiiig  me  an  hundred  pounds  ere  I  go 
on  her  errand !"  And  again  he  laughed  that  deep 
inward  laugli  peculiar  to  himself. 

Next  day  he  was  called  into  the  presence  of  the 
Queen  herself,  and  was  told  by  the  lips  of  royalty, 
with  a  graciousness  all  nnwonted,  that  he  was  at 
liberty  to  return  to  Ireland  whensoever  he  would. 
Nay,  the  Queen  condescended  to  remind  him  that 
his  wife's  base  brother  had  usurped  the  possession 
of  the  Clancarthy  estates,  and  taken  upon  himself 
the  barbarous  title  of  MacCarthy  More. 

Florence's  answer  was  characteristic.  He  had 
suddenly  become  more  stately  in  his  bearing,  and 
looked  every  inch  the  princely  head  of  the  proud 
Clan  Carthy. 

"  Most  gracious  queen,"  said  Florence,  "  I  am 
thankful  for  the  new  favor  you  have  added  to  the 
many  ere  now  bestowed  upon  me,  but  in  these  trou 
blous  times  I  have  no  desire  to  return  into  Ireland, 
where  my  present  poverty  unfits  me  to  render  ser- 
vice to  your  Majesty,  and  I  might  perchance  fall  again 
under  suspicion.  Tlie  many  years  of  imprisonment 
I  have  undergone,  and  the  ruin  that  hath  come  upon 
me,  for  no  cause  that  I  know  of, — have  made  me  fear- 
ful of  going  into  Ireland  at  a  time  when  almost  every 
lord  and  gentleman  of  mine  own  race  is  in  arms  with 
O'Neil." 

Elizabeth  well  understood  the  bitter  meaning  of 
his  words,  and  had  she  given  way  to  the  first  impulse 


Tub  Fortunes  ov  an  Irish  Chief. 


223 


she  would  have  ordered  liim  "  tc  the  Tower,"  but 
she  knew  the  danger  was  imniincn  o ;  she  knew  that  tho 
English  rule  in  Ireland  was  never  so  ill-assured  as 
then ;  she  knew  that  Florencj  MacCarthy  knew  all 
that  she  did,  perchance  more,  and  in  his  altered  tone 
she  read  his  consciousness  of  her  weakness  and  his 
strength.  Florence  MacCarthy  was  no  longer  the 
suitor,  he  was  dictating  terms, — his  turn  was  come. 


;^l 


224 


MacCartuy  More;  or. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Florence  went  to  Ireland  some  time  after  when 
it  suited  his  own  convenience.  Wliat  he  f^vl  there 
was  best  known  to  liimself,  but  it  is  certain  lie  had 
done  little  for  the  Queen,  when  the  royal  lady  and 
her  f  dvisers  were  startled  by  the  apparition  of  his 
towering  figure  in  London.  lie  came  to  complain 
that  between  Donal  and  the  Browncs  he  had  no  con- 
trol in  Desmond,  and  could,  consequently,  do  nothing 
against  the  rebels,  now  more  powerful  than  ever  in 
all  parts  of  the  country. 

Elizabeth  stormed  at  first,  and  swere  that  Florence 
MacCarthy  was  as  wicked  a  traitor  as  O'Neil  him- 
self, and  that  too  much  had  been  done  for  him 
already.  But  seeing  that  even  her  fiercest  anger 
did  not  much  affect  Florence,  she  was  forcibly  re- 
minded that  times  had  changed,  and,  after  due  con- 
sideration with  her  ministers,  she  commanded  his 
claims  to  be  once  for  all  examined,  and  a  decision 
given  without  dela^-.  Tl.  ^  result  was  that  the  entire 
possessions  of  the  lat":  Earl  were  at  length  bestowed 
on  Florence  and  his  wife ;  payment  to  be  made  to 
Sir  Nicholas  Browne  of  the  moneys  his  father  had 
advanced  on  mortcfao^es.  The  motives  which 
prompted  the  Queen  to  this  magnificent  "  grant,"  as 
it  was  styled,  were  plainly  set  forth — "  in  hope  of  his 
(Florence's)  loyalty  and  service  !" 


Tub  Fortunks  of  an  Irish  Ciiirf. 


225 


Very  grateful  dul  Florcnoe  appear,  but,  although 
urged  to  set  out  speedily  for  his  country  whence  the 
news  were  daily  worse,  he  seemed  in  no  hurry  to  be 
gone.  Day  after  day  lie  was  to  bo  seen  hovering 
around  the  precincts  of  the  Court  and  the  Council- 
chamber.  At  Icnojth  Sir  Robert  Cecil  brouijht  him 
an  angry  mandate  from  the  Queen  to  repair  forth- 
with into  Ireland  if  he  would  not  have  all  the  grants 
already  made  cancelled  and  withdrawn.  Then  came 
out  the  reason  of  his  loiterinoc.  There  was  one 
little  clause  in  the  Gjrant  whoreb^  the  Queen  reserved 
to  herself  "  all  the  ritrhts  and  chiefries  of  the  late 
Earl !"  And  Florence  coolly  and  methodically  ex- 
plained that  those  very  rights  and  chiefries  were 
precisely  what  would  enable  him  to  recover  his  wife's 
estates  from  those  who  wrongfully  held  them.  This 
concession  was  not  to  be  thought  of,  for  if  there  was 
anything  Queen  Elizabeth  was  particularly  bent  on 
doing,  at  that  particular  time,  it  was  to  have  and  to 
hold  all  such  "rights,"  and  to  abolish  all  such 
"  chiefries  "  amonc^  "  the  mere  Irish." 

CD 

A  day  or  two  after  Florence  was  summoned  before 
the  Council  and  there  aj^prised  of  certain  tra>orous 
doings  of  his  brother,  Dermod  Moyie,  and  others  of 
his  kinsmen,  w^lio  had  been  found  holding  inter- 
course with  the  rebels.  It  surely  required  all  the 
self-control  of  which  Florence  was  master,  to  conceal 
his  feelings  when  informed,  on  the  authority  of  Sir 
Thomas  ISTorreys,  that  "  the  castles  and  houses  "  of 
his  brother  and  their  friends  had  been  taken  and 


';  11 


"1  ;1 

1 

I 
» 


1  I 


226 


MacCarthy  Morb;  ob, 


razed  to  the  ground,  and  fiirtlier,  that  he  himself 
being  suspected  of  authorizing  and  instigating  these 
treasonable  acts,  it  was  deemed  advisable  to  detain 
hira  in  England ! 

Yet  Florence  heard  it  all  with  the  coolest  in- 
difference ;  expressed  himself  well  contented  to  keep 
himself  out  of  those  home-troubles,  and  in  the  most 
innocent  way  imaginable  asked  whether  worthy  Sir 
Thomas  had  informed  their  lordships  of  the  fall  of 
the  strong  castle  of  Molahiff,  which  Sir  Nicholas 
Browne  had  stoutly  held  for  the  Queen.  The  lords 
exchanged  significant  looks,  as  though  of  caution, 
and  answer  was  made  that  a  rumor. of  that  event  had 
reached  them. 

"  Is  it  known  to  your  lordships,"  asked  Florence, 
without  raising  his  eyes,  "that  it  was  Donal,  the 
usurper  of  my  wife's  patrimony,  that  led  the  assault, 
and  that  it  was  by  his  orders  the  garrison  were 
slaughtered  after  a  fierce  and  obstinate  resistance  ?" 

This,  too,  was  known,  but  somehow,  it  seemed, 
that  Florence's  absence  became  suddenly  more  de- 
sirable just  theh  than  his  presence,  and  he  was  in- 
formed that  he  was  at  liberty  to  retire. 

A  few  days  after  he  was  called  to  an  interview 
with  Sir  Robert  Cecil,  and  by  that  politic  son  of  a 
still-  more  politic  father,  gravely  informed  that  his 
captivity  was  at  last  at  an  end  (hitherto  he  had  been 
only  liberated  on  sufference  and  on  heavy  bail),  and 
that  the  Queen  was  graciously  pleased  to  confer  upon 
him  all  those  "  rights  "  which  had  appertained  to  his 


Thb  Fortunkb  op  an  Irish  Ciiirf. 


227 


imself 
;  these 
detain 


est  iu- 
,0  keep 
e  most 
.hy  Sir 
fall  of 
icholas 
e lords 
laution, 
ent  had 

Lorence, 
lal,  the 
assault, 
n  were 
ance?" 
eemed, 
lore  de- 
\\  as  in- 
terview 
m  of  a 
liat  his 
id  been 
fl),  and 
^>r  upon 
to  his 


late  father-in-law.  Only  the  chieftainship  was  with- 
held !  But  all  this  was  on  condition  tliat  he  went 
immediately  to  Ireland,  and  set  about  expelling 
Donal  and  the  other  traitors  wlio  were  bidding  fair 
to  have  all  Munster  in  their  hands  soon. 

"  But  to  clear  my  country  of  rebels,"  said  the  ever- 
cautious  Florence,  "  I  should  e'en  be  left  to  work  in 
mine  own  way.  I  must  be  at  liberty  to  parley  with 
the  Queen's  enemies,  without  suspicion  of  treason, 
when  my  needs  require  the  same." 

Sir  Robert  was  willing  to  grant  this  and,  in  short, 
all  other  concessions  and  privileges  in  the  Queen's 
name,  only  Master  Florence  MacCarthy  must  start 
without  delay. 

And  Florence  did  start  accordingly,  for  the  first 
time  in  twelve  long  years  a  free  man.  His  first  visit 
in  Ireland  was  not  to  his  ovrn  home,  or  the  wife  he 
had  not  seen  for  months  long.  The  load  of  anxiety 
that  weighed  heavy  on  his  heart  made  him  turn  his 
steps  in  anotlier  d  rectiou,  towards  one  who  had  the 
power  of  bestowing,  or  withholding  Avhat  most  lie 
coveted  Oil  earth.  A  few  hours  after  his  I  'ding  in 
Ireland,  he  was  shaking  the  friendly  hanJ  of  liis 
brother-in-law,  O'Sullivan  More,  in  his  ancestral  castle 
of  Dunkerrin,  near  Kinsalc. 

Older  and  more  careworn  both  looked  than  when 
last  we  saw  tliem  together  at  I*alice  Castle  by  the 
lake-shore,  but  the  cloud  passed  awav  from  the  brow 
of  each,  and  the  darkened  faces  bi  ightened  with  some- 
thing like  the  olden  smile  as  tl  :>  friends  cxciianged 


228 


MacCarthy  More;  or, 


tlieir  kinclly  greeting,  and  O'Sullivan  welcomed  "Flo- 
rence after  his  long  sojourn  in  the  iingenial  atmos- 
phere of  London. 

"  Truly  it  does  my  heart  good,"  said  Florence, 
"  to  look  once  more  on  the  face  of  a  true  friend. 
Owen,  my  heart  is  too  full  for  words.  But  for  your 
friendship  I  had  lost  all." 

"  I  know  not  but  you  might,  Florence,"  said 
O'Sullivan  with  his  old  frankness  and  good-nature ; 
"  had  I  not  kepi  the  Rod  for  you,  the  Desmond  es- 
tates were  worth  little.  But  cheer  thee,  old  fi  iend  ! 
Donal's  chieftainsliip  will  little  avail  him,  when  the 
Rod  is  yours  and  the  elccaon  too  !" 

*'  Think  you  the  gentlemen  are  for  me  ?" 

"  Ay  !  truly  are  they,  and  for  none  else.  As  for 
Donal,  scarce  one  of  them  would  acknowledge  liim, — 
it  was  foul  shame,  they  say,  to  all  the  sept,  to  have  a 
base-born  churl  for  MacCarthy  More,  even  though 
the  MacCarthy  blood  be  in  his  veins  by  the  father's 
side.  An'  that  be  the  stuif  O'Neil  makes  captains 
and  chiefs  of,  his  fbllo^ving  of  lords  and  gentlemen 
wall  be  but  small.  IIow  found  you  Lady  KUen  and 
the  children  ?" 

"As  yet  I  have  not  seen  them.  I  hear  Ellen  hath 
had  a  gay  tiaie  in  Cork,  lately,  among  the  English 
there ;  and  thoy  tell  me  slie  has  worse  to  say  tlian 
any  one  concerning  '  the  rebels,^ " — there  was  a  sig- 
nificance in  liis  way  of  pronouncing  the  last  words 
that.  O'Sullivan  v/ell  understood. 

"  She  is  not  as  prudent  as  wo  might  wi^'i,"  puIu 


i 


Tub  Fortunes  of  an  Irish  Ciiiep. 


229 


PJilU 


the  Kerry  chieftain,  shaking  his  head  gravely, 
"  and  I  fear,"  lowering  his  voice,  "  that  she  is  over- 
much with  the  English  dames.  Such  company  is 
neither  for  your  good  nor  liers,  MacCarthy  More  that 
will  soon  be  ! — an"  you  have  secrets,  my  good  friend, 
I  pray  you,  keep  them  from  your  fair  lady-wife  !" 

Florence  started,  colored,  and  looked  with  keen 
scrutiny  into  O'SuUivan'a  face  ;  what  he  saw  there 
brought  an  angry  Hush  to  his  brow,  and  he  muttered 
to  himself — "  I  feared  as  much — God  help  us  all  this 
day !"  There  was  a  moment's  silence,  then  Mac- 
Cavthy  spoke  again,  in  his  usual  tone  j  self-control 
never  cost  him  much. 

"  But,  prithee,  tell  me,  Owen  !  how  fares  it  with 
our  vouno;  cousin  of  Desmond,  James  FitzTliomas?" 

"  Excellently  well ;  he  hath  no  less  than  eight  thou- 
sand men  together,  in  the  Limerick  mountains,  ready 
to  join  O'Neil  at  his  coming  into  Munster,  the  which 
h  flaily  looked  for." 

"  I  hear  that  Dormod  O'Connor  hath  come  out  of 
Cuiir  aught  with  a  large  force,  and  that  all  the  Lacys 
ani  some  of  the  Burkes  are  out." 

"It  is  even  so,  they  are  with  the  Earl  now.  In 
sooth,  the  whole  province  waiteth  but  for  the  rxorth- 
ern  clans  to  rise  as  one  man.  What  do  you  purpose 
doing?" 

"  I  purpose  recovering  my  country  first  of  all,"  said 
F!.)rerice  with  his  peculiar  smile ;  "  the  Que  )n  and  lier 
ministers  seem  to  think  that  1  can  do  more  to  keep 
Munster  quiet  than  any  man  iu  it.     Hence  hath  my 


230 


MacCahthy  More;  or, 


twc4vc  years'  imprisonment  been  brouglit  to  an  end. 
But  before  I  cun  bring  the  country  o .  er  to  loi/al  sen- 
tlinents  and  the  ways  of  English '  civility '  " — this  was 
said  with  a  contemptuous  curl  of  the  lip — "  I  must 
needs  have  the  power  as  well  as  the  will." 

"How  "ill  O'N'eil  take  your  assumption  of  tlie 
cliieftainsi  j 

"Passinor  ,  ,\  \  warrant  vou  ! — See  if  he  do  not  I 
I  purpose  visiting  him  and  Desmond  before  I  am 
many  days  older." 

"  You  dare  not,  Florence !— it  were  as  much  as 
even  your  life  were  worth  !" 

Florence  MacCarthy  laughed  in  his  own  peculiar 
way.  "  Owen  O'Sullivan,  you  are  a  wise  man,  yet 
there  be  things  you  do  not  understand.  I  have  got 
permission  to  hold  parley  with  the  rebels — in  further- 
ance of  the  Queen's  gracious  designs  for  the  civiliz- 
ing and  pacifying  of  this  country," 

"  Florence,  you  are  too  deep  for  my  poor  wits," 
said  O'Sullivan,  eviiently  puzzled.  "I  pray  God 
you  may  bring  your  designs  to  a  favorable 
issue !" 

The  entrance  of  O'Sullivan's  wife,  anxious  to  sec 
her  brother,  put  a  stop  to  the  conversation.  Before 
Florence  left  Dunkerrin,  an  hour  later,  he  startled 
O'Sullivan  by  the  information  that  the  Earl  of  Essex 
was  coming  over  from  England  with  an  army  of 
16,000  foot  and  2,000  horse.  "  So  you  see,  Owen,"  ho 
added, "  it  behoveth  all  to  look  to  their  arms,  which- 
ever side  they  follow." 


The  Fortunes  of  an  Irish  Cuibp. 


231 


"  Why  not  tell  me  that  sooner  ?"  said  O'Sullivan 
much  amazed. 

"  111  news  ever  come  soon  enough,"  replied  Flo- 
rence calmly. 

"  Nevertheless,  keep  up  your  courage,  and  hold 
yourself  in  readiness  with  the  Ro'^.,  when  once  I  have 
got  the  needful  authority  to  cake  it,  and  all  will  go 
well, — /  promise  you  that,  who  never  yet  deceived 
you!" 

"  I  will  hope  for  the  best,  Florence ! — but  I  pray 
you  be  on  your  guard,  for  these  are  perilous  times  ! 
Heard  you  of  the  death  of  Sir  Thomas  Norreys  ?" 

"  Marry,  I  did ;  he  fell,  I  was  told,  in  a  petty  skir- 
mish, fell  without  his  fame.  Well!  there  may  a 
worse  man  come  in  his  place." 

When  Florence  reached  his  home  he  found  his 
children,  four  bright,  rosy  boys, — but  his  wife,  he  did 
not  find ;  she  was  still  in  Cork,  where  the  festivities 
given  in  honor  of  Essex  and  his  army  were  just  at 
their  height.  His  indignation  was  so  great  that  he 
would  not  have  her  apprised  of  his  coming,  and  be- 
fore they  met,  all  Ireland,  and  England,  too,  were 
startled  by  events  that  even  the  most  sagacious  could 
not  have  foreseen.  Florence  MacCarthy,  knowing 
that  he  could  do  little  for  the  expulsion  of  Donal 
without  being  formally  invested  with  the  title,  and 
knowing,  too,  that  failing  the  Queen's  consent  he 
could  not  openly  assume  it  without  hazarding  the 
loss  of  all  he  had  gained,  made  application  to  the 
Commissioners,  Sir  II.  Power  and  Sir  Warham  St. 


;  1- 


232 


MacCartiiy  More;  ob, 


Lcger,  who  had  been  appointed  to  rule  Mimster 
instead  of  the  Vice-President  lately  deceased.  Now 
Sir  Warham  was  his  enemy  of  old  time,  but  so  skil- 
fully did  Florence  state  his  case  that  he  succeeded  in 
convincing  tlie  stern  old  Trojan  and  his  colleague 
that  the  pacilication  of  Munstcr  depended  on  his  tak- 
ing the  old  sept  title  of  MacCarthy  More,  now 
usurped  by  his  wife's  base  brother.  He  finally  pre- 
vailed upon  the  Commissioners  to  write  a  joint  letter 
to  Sir  }w  )Lert  Cecil,  giving  it  as  their  of>inion  that 
unless  the  Queen  so  far  condescended  to  the  barbar- 
ous way,^  of  Jie  Irishry,  Florence  might  as  well 
have  been  kept  in  London.  "  And  so  for  the  title 
of  MacCarthy,"  they  wrote,  "  (which  the  bastard 
Donal  doth  now  usurp,  withholding  thereby  the 
country,)  we  also  think  it  agreeable  to  policy,  to  the 
end  that  he  might  the  rather  induce  the  country- 
people  to  forsake  the  rebels  (which  no  doubt  by  this 
means  they  will),  to  grace  him  with  the  title  of  Mac- 
Carthy, whereby  he  shall  be  the  better  enabled  both 
to  obtain  and  defend  that  country." 

.Yet  not  all  these  representations  could  induce  the 
tyrant  Queen  of  England  to  allow  Florence  to  as- 
sume the  obnoxious  title.  Had  it  been  the  English 
earldom  he  coveted,  Elizabeth  would  have  been 
easily  prevailed  upon  to  grant  hira  the  renewal  of 
it,  buried  as  it  was  in  the  grave  of  Earl  Donald  in 
Mucruss  Abbey, — but  the  title  of  Earl  of  Clancarthy 
was  to  him  nothing,  that  of  MacCarthy  More  every- 
thing.   The  burning  wish  of  his  deep  heart  was  to 


i 


TiiR  Fortunes  op  an  Irish  Cuief. 


233 


to 


rule  as  an  Irisli  cliieftaiii,  a  prince,—  as  the  MacCarthy 
was  of  old.  He  liad  lieard  of  the  great  nortliern 
chieftain  casting  aside,  as  a  worn-out  gartuent,  tlie 
queen's  title  of  Earl  of  Tyrone,  and  proudly  assinuirig 
the  hereditary  one  of  O'Xeil, — the  toparch  of  Tyr- 
connell  was  still  O'Donnel, — even  so  would  lie,  one 
of  the  two  great  Munster  cliieftains,  be  MAcCAirriir, 
and  nothing  else.  Tliat  was  his  dream  by  niglit, 
his  hope  by  day,  but  beyond  that  dignity  stretched 
a  golden  vista,  ending  in  Irish  indejjendence,  in  total 
separation  from  the  Engkind  that  had  been  from  the 
first  a  harsh  stepmother  to  Ireland, — in  close  con- 
nection witli  Catliolic  Spain  and  "eternal  Home  I" 
Did  any  one,  of  all  his  Catholic  contemporaries, 
rightly  understand  Florence  MacCarthy  ?  did  even 
one  give  liim  credit  for  the  good  intentions,  the 
noble  aspirations  that  underlay  all  the  circuitous 
workings  of  his  capacious  mind  ? 

About  these  days,  Florence  and  his  wife  must 
have  made  up  their  quarrel,  if  quarrel  they  had,  and 
Lady  Ellen  MacCarthy  must  have  embarked  in  a  new 
career,  f  :)r  we  find  her  husband  writing  to  Sir  Robert 
Cecil  that  his  wife  was  defending  one  of  her  fortresses, 
"  Castle  Lough  of  the  MacCarthys,"  in  tlio  Lower 
Lake  of  Killarney,  against  her  base  brother.  And 
gallantly  the  castle  was  defended,  but  it  fell  at 
length  into  the  hands  of  the  wild  caj^tain  of  "  loose 
Bwords,"  who  now  called  himself  j\[acCarthy  More. 

Donal  had,  in  truth,  been  reaping  honors  of  late 
that  entitled  him  to  real  distinction.      He  it  waa 


''I  1 


in 

Ij.  It  ( I 


'i 


234 


MAcCARTnY  Morr;  or, 


who,  with  his  own  followers  and  his  Connaughtmen., 
had  first  humbled  the  proud  crest  of  the  gallant 
Essex  in  the  ever-memorable  Pass  of  Plumes,  what 
time  tlio  brilliant  favorite  was  marching  with  the 
flower  of  his  army  to  put  down  the  Munster  rebels ! 
The  royal  troops  had  driven  Donal  and  his  ill-disci- 
plined hordes  before  them  into  the  woods  and  fens  of  a 
region  where  it  would  have  been  hard  to  follow  them. 
But  it  so  happened  that  the  Earl,  knowing  nothing 
of  their  whereabouts,  on  his  march  back  to  Dublin 
after  his  solitary  feat  of  taking  Caliir  Castle  and 
driving  off  a  prey  of  cows,  fell  into  an  ambush  formed 
in  a  narrow  and  woody  defile  by  Donal  MacCarthy 
with  some  of  the  O'Mores  and  the  Geraldines,  Donal, 
how^ever,  being  the  leader.  The  brilliant  crowd  of 
plumed  cavaliers  who  accompanied  Essex,  including 
many  scions  of  the  first  fiimilies  of  England,  and 
who,  on  that  day,  fell  like  sheep  beneath  the  venge- 
ful blows  of  the  men  of  jMunster,  caused  the  place 
of  slaughter  to  be  named  ever  after  the  "  Gap  of 
Feathers,"  or  more  commonly  the  "  Pass  of  Plumes." 
This  achievement,  which  gave  Donal  a  prestige 
amongst  the  national  party,  and  increased  his  natural 
boldness  by  many  vlegrees,  nothing  discouraged 
Florence ;  he  knew  that  the  gentlemen  of  the  sept 
were  with  him,  and  that  O'SuUivan  was  keeping  the 
rod  of  supremacy  till  he  could  take  it  with  the 
Queen's  sanction.  Meanwhile  he  availed  himself  of 
the  pennission  he  had  received  to  parley  with  the 
rebels. 


TlIL   FORTIINRS   OP    AN    IriSU    CiIIRF. 


235 


It  was  in  the  romantic  wilds  of  Drisliane,  in  tho 
county  of  Cork,  that  tho  young  Earl  of  Desmond,  com- 
monly called  the  Sugaun  Earl,  lay  then  encamped 
with  some  twelve  hundred  of  his  men  ;  true 
Geraldine  that  he  was,  he  had  with  him  the  venerable 
Bishop  McCreagh  and  Father  Dermot,  a  priest  of 
some  distinction.  Florence's  own  account  of  tho 
night  he  spent  in  his  cousin's  camp  is  both  curious 
and  interesting.  For  all  in  the  camp  there  were  just 
two  beds,  one  of  which  was  given  to  the  Bishop  and 
the  priest ;  the  other  being  for  the  young  Earl,  he  in- 
vited Florence  to  share  it  with  him,  after  they  had 
all  supped  on  "  beef  and  water,"  "  the  only  meals 
they  overbad,"  quaintly  said  Florence. 

The  loriG:  consultation  which  then  and  there  took 
place  was  possibly  somewhat  different  in  its  nature 
from  that  which  Elizabeth  or  her  ministers  antici- 
pated in  the  authorized  "  parley  with  the  rebels." 
Long  and  earnest  it  was  ;  very  warm  on  the  side  of 
James  of  Desmond  ;  cool  and  cautions,  as  usual,  on 
that  of  Florence.  After  a  w^hile,  the  Bishop  was 
summoned  to  take  part  in  the  conference,  and  then 
the  voices  of  all  three  sank  to  a  lower  tone,  and  even 
the  impetuous  young  Geraldine  became  subdued  and 
calm.  Florence's  rhetoric  appeared  to  have  a  won- 
derful effect  in  taming  down  these  determined  rebels. 
That,  however,  was  nothing  new, — the  man  whose 
smooth,  fair  speech  had  ere  now  charmed  the  evil  spirit 
out  of  Elizabeth  Tudor,  and  made  even  the  keenest 
of  English  statesmen  see  things,  at  times,  in  such 


0 


286 


MacCarthy  More;  or, 


wise  as  it  suited  him  to  represent  them,  could  havo 
little  difficulty  in  persuading  James  Fitz  Thomas,  liis 
own  kinsman,  that  he  was  not  so  much  the  Queen's 
friend  as  his,  and  tliat  only  a  favorahle  opportunity 
was  wanting  for  him  to  prove  his  true  sentiments. 
Whatever  were  the  representations  made  by  Florence 
to  his  rebel  kinsman,  and  whatever  effect  they  might 
have  had  on  the  Queen's  cause,  it  is  certain  that  the 
"parley"  between  the  cousins  was  very  beneficial 
to  Florence,  for  in  twenty-four  hours  after  it  ended, 
there  was  not  a  "  bonnie"  nor  any  other  rebel  sol- 
dier to  be  seen  in  the  whole  country  of  Carbery;  as 
if  by  magic  the  large  Geraldine  force  that  had  been 
living  at  free  quarters  on  the  tenants  of  Florence 
MacCarthy,  all  at  once  disappeared  from  his  lands. — 
But  where,  of  all  places,  should  they  turn  up  again, 
but  in  the  barony  of  Ibawne,  belonging  to  Florence's 
old  enemy  and  constant  maligner,  the  Lord  Barry  of 
Buttevant,  who  forthwith  sent  off  complaints  to  Cork, 
and  Dublin,  and  London,  that  Florence  MacCarthy, 
by  his  traitorous  dealings  with  the  rebels,  had 
wrought  him  this  evil,  and  maliciously  persuaded 
his  cousin,  the  traitor  FitzrThomas,  to  send  his  rebel 
hordes  to  spoil  his  lands  and  harry  his  tenants.  But 
complain  as  he  might  in  Ibawne  the  rebels  remained 
so  long  as  there  was  cow,  or  calf,  or  sheep  to  kill,  or 
provisions  of  any  kind  to  be  had.  This  was  bad 
and  very  bad,  and  fierce  was  the  anger  of  loyal 
"  David  Buttevant,"  but  worse  things  were  to  come 
upon  ])avid,  and  angrier  still  he  had  cause  to  be. 


TliB   FOUTUNBS   OF    AN    IrISII    ChIEF. 


237 


Florence  MacCjirthy  liad  by  this  time  taken  up  liia 
abode  in  the  old  Castle  of  Kinsale,  tlie  aeqi^isition  of 
wliich  years  before  had  excited  the  suspicions  of  Eli- 
zabeth's officials  in  Ireland.  There,  with  his  wife 
and  children,  he  made  his  home,  much  to  the  annoy- 
ance of  Lady  Ellen,  who  had  no  fondness  for  the  sea, 
and  could  nowise  understand  why  her  husband  should 
prefer  that  lone  sea-washed  fortress  of  the  De  Courceys 
to  anv  of  her  castles  in  romantic  Desmond,  or  his  own 
in  fertile  Carbery,  amid  softly-swelling  hills  and  ver- 
dant meads  and  silvery  streams.  So  disgusted  was 
the  fair  lady  of  Clancartliy  with  her  husband's  sin- 
gular choice  of  a  dwellinii*,  that  most  of  her  time 
was  spent  with  her  mother  at  Killarney, — Florence 
had  sternly  forbidden  the  visits  to  her  English 
friends  in  Cork,  and^  with  all  her  faults,  and,  truth 
to  tell,  they  grew  more  as  she  grew  older, — Lady 
Ellen  MacCarthy  was  too  much  of  a  Catholic  to 
Bet  her  husband's  will  at  defiance,  or  separate  in  anger 
any  length  of  time  from  the  man  to  whom  she  had 
plighted  her  faith  before  God's  altar,  Avhere  the  dead 
were  around,  the  dead  of  her  race  and  his.  Weak 
and  vain  she  had  become,  but  her  home-ties  were 
still  strong,  and  she  knew  and  felt  wbn.';  was  due 
to  her  mother's  commaiids,  as  well  as  her  husband's. 

Lady  Ellen  was  at  home,  and  sitting  one  evening 
pensively  watching  f  iQ  shadows  gathering  over  the 
crested  sea-wave,  Florence  standing  in  the  recess  of 
a  neighboring  window,  lost  in  thought  as  he  often 
was, — perhaps  musing  sadly  on  the  fate  that  had 


M 


238 


MacCarthy  Moue;  or, 


given  him  for  wife  one  who,  however  fair  to  looli 
upon,  was  no  helpmate  to  such  fis  lie.  All  at  onoe  a 
courier  was  amiounced,  and  Florence,  starting  f 
his  reverie^  hastened  to  the  outer  hall  to  meet  lum. 
Listless  as  his  wife  sometimes  was,  of  late  years, 
she  was  even  nervously  anxious  in  matters  where  her 
own  and  her  family's  interests  might  be  at  stake,  and 
she  awaited  her  husband's  return  that  evening  with 
a  restless  impatience  that  made  her  start  at  times 
from  her  seat  and  pace  the  room  with  a  hurried  step. 

When  Florence  re-appeared  his  check  was  Hushed 
and  his  eyes  were  lit  up  as  his  wife  had  not  seen 
them  for  years  long. 

"  Florence  !"  she  said,  laying  her  hand  on  his  ar 
as  they  both  stood  in  the  fading  light  by  the  wind^. .. 
where  Ellen  had  been  sitting.      "  Florence !    what 
tidinjxs  hath  he  brouo-ht  ?" 

A  change  passed  over  the  husband's  face  at  the 
sound  of  the  light,  musical  voice.  Someundefinable 
emotion  was  visible  on  the  face  which  the  stern  law 
of  necessity  had  schooled  into  habitual  dissimulation ; 
a  struggle  might  be  plainly  seen,  the  struggle  of  a 
heart  that  would  fiiin  confide  in  one  it  ought  to  love, 
but  feared  to  do  so;  then  Florence  MacCarthy  sa'd 
in  the  uncertain  tones  of  one  who  knew  not  how  the 
tidinojs  he  announced  might  be  received — "  Another 
defeat  hath  the  Queen's  troops  sustained." 

"Where?  how,  Florence?"  cried  Lady  Ellen 
eagerly. 

"  In  the  Curlew  Mountains,  in  O'Rourke's  country. 


I 


The  Fortunes  of  an  Irish  Chikp. 


239 


ii-''  i  J 


Sir  Conycrs  Clifford,  Governor  of  Connauglit,  was 
marching,  by  the  orders  of  Lord  Essex,  against  tho 
northern  rebels  at  Belleek,  with  over  two  thousand 
men,  liorse  and  foot,  when,  in  the  heart  of  the  Cur- 
lew Mountains,  he  was  suddenly  attacked  by  the 
O'Kourkes  and  some  of  their  f'iends,  and  after  a  sharp 
contest,  the  royal  forces  were  utterly  routed.  Sir 
Conyers  and  many  of  liis  officers  slain,  and  full 
twenty-five  banners,  Avith  a  large  quantity  of  arms 
and  ammunition,  and  other  stores,  fell  into  the  hands 
of  the — the  enemy.  Clifford's  head  was  cut  off,  and 
sent  to  O'Rourke  to  Drumah   re  Castle." 

A  cry  of  horror  escaped  Lady  ICllen.  "  A  gracious 
gift,  truly,  for  the  noble  Lord  of  Breffny !" 

"  A  welcomer  one  than  you  think,  Ellen,  it  may 
have  been,"  said  Florence  with  emphasis. 

"What  mean  you,  Florence?" 

"  Heard  you  never,  or  have  you  forgotten,  that 
Brian  O'Rourke,  this  young  chieftain's  father,  was 
hung  on  Tyburn  Hill,  partly  for  sheltering  ship- 
wrecked Spaniards  from  the  ill-fated  Armada,  partly 
for  some  indignity  offered  to  Queen  Elizabeth's  pic- 
ture a  little  before.  His  head  was  spiked  on  London 
Bridge,  just  fourteen  years  ago^  atid  I  fear  this  dis- 
aster is  mainly  owing  to  the  vengeance  of  tho 
O'Rourkes." 

"  It  may  be  so,"  said  Lady  Ellen  musingly ;  then 
she  added,  as  the  hot  blood  of  her  race  took  fire  at  tho 
possibility  of  such  an  in&alt,  "An'  it  were  my  father 
wlio  had  been  so  dealt  with  by  the  English,  I  am  no 


M 


■  ml 


I 


240 


MacCartiiy  Moue;  or, 


daughter  of  ClaiiCprlhy  or  I  would  do  as  the 
O'Rourkes  did,  if  tliey  set  foot  in  my  country  ! — Take 
it  as  you  will,  Florence,  I  tell  you  they  should  pay 
the  eric  with  their  biood  !" 

Florence  shook  his  head  reprovingly,  but  there 
was  tliat  iu  his  eyes  that  made  Ellen  tliink  he  was 
much  of  her  way  of  thinking  in  regard  to  the  battle  of 
the  Curlew  Mountains, — for  a  pitched  battle  it  really 
was,  only  that  the  natives  had  the  advantage  of 
knowing  their  ground,  wliereas  the  English  did  not, 
and  tnc  further  one  of  beiniTj  well  accustomed  to 
mountai:i,  or  whnt  is  now  called  guerilla^  warfare. 

Says  the  biographer  of  Florence  IMacCarthy, 
speaking  of  this  brilliant  exploit  of  the  O'Rourkes 
and  their  allies  in  the  Curlew  Mountains:  "Two 
h'lndred  men  slain!  as  many  wounded !  Nineteen 
hundred  old  soldiers  scattered  and  disgraced!  for 
they  fled  '  in  a  general  rout,  throwing  away  not  only 
their  arms,  but  their  very  clothes,'  and  the  head  of 
Iler  Majesty's  Governor  of  Connaught  to  be  spiked 
npon  the  battlements  of  O'Rourke's  Castle — as  the 
head  of  his  fatiier  had  been  upon  London  Bridge — 
should  that  barbarous  chieftain  have  the  sense  to 
take  a  lesson  of  civility  from  his  English  neighbors, 
was  the  eric  taken  by  the  son  for  the  blood  of  hi« 
parent ! 

"  Irish  history  abounds  in  tales  of  bloody  requital 
like  t]}is,  for  crtielty  and  insult  inflicted  by  the  Eng- 
lish conquerors.  Savage  practical  jokes  bctweerj. 
nations  are  the  ccsllle^t  of  all  cntcrtainmonts !    It 


as  the 
—Take 
lid  pay 

t   tlierc 
lie  was 
attic  of 
t  really 
age  of 
lid  not, 
ucd   to 
rflxve. 
Carthy, 
lonrkes 
"  Two 
ineteen 
id!   for 
ot  only 
oad  of 
spiked 
as  the 
lidge — 
hisc  to 
fhbors, 
of  his 

^quital 
Eng- 

Itwcen 
!    It 


Thr  Fortunes  of  an  Irish  Cniif. 


241 


was  in  an  evil  hour  that  Bryan  O'Rourke  dragged 
the  Queen's  portrait, — the  elFigy  of  that  beauty 
which  adorned  the  world — in  the  mud  !  It  was  in 
a  worse  hour,  when  the  I^ondoners,  amused  with 
their  pleasant  Jest  of  the  gad,*  thronged  to  witness 
the  ignominious  death  of  an  insolent  barbarian  (an 
Irish  prince)  !  but  it  was  in  the  worst  of  all  when 
the  tragedy  in  the  Curlews  washed  out  with  the 
blood  of  several  distinguished  English  oihcers,  and 
several  humlred  old  soldiers,  the  shame  of  that 
ghastly  revel  around  the  Tyburn  gibbet  I" 


*  It  excited  much  mirth  amoni^st  tl\e  Lonaoncrs  at  the  time 
that  this  "great  Lord  of  Brouiiy"  petitioned  tiie  Queen  to  allow 
him  to  be  nuna;  "with  a  g'^d,  or  withy,  after  the  fashion  of  his 
own  eouutry."  Tliis  favor  was  graciously  granted,  and  no  less  a 
person  tium  Mylcr  McGiath,  iirst  Protestant  Archbishop  of 
Cashel,  was  appointed  to  administer  to  his  spiritual  wants  ;  but 
the  "  grwit  Lord  of  Brenny  "  not  only  refused  the  services  of  the 
apostate  friar,  but  gave  him  in  Irish  a  piece  of  hia  mind  that  waa 
not  very  llatteriug  to  that  exalted  personage. 


I'.^j  iA 


242 


MacCaktht  Mork;  oa, 


.»  *  J 


410^- 


.^ 


CHAPTER  XV. 

The  Geraldine  forces  once  gone,  "All  the  ap- 
proaches into  Florence's  countr;^ ,  which  was  *  the 
back  and  strength  of  all  Munster,'  "wer-  ' nstantly 
closed !  What  took  place  from  that  tit.  e  forward 
within  the  vast  and  populous  territories  of  Mac- 
Carthy  More,  the  English  Government  had  no  means 
of  knowing,  except  by  the  letters  which  Florence 
himself  chose  to  write  to  Sir  Robert  Cecil."* 

So  carefully  had  the  wily  chieftain  shut  out  all 
strangers  from  his  immense  possessions, — even  Donal, 
the  nominal  MacCarthy  More,  having  gone  with  all 
his  followers  with  the  rebel  army  into  Barry's  coun- 
try,— so  skilfully  and  so  quietly  had  he  strengthened 
all  its  borders,  that  before  any  notice  was  taken  of 
his  proceedings,  both  Carbery  and  Desmond  were  as 
sealed  book^,  which  not  even  the  keen  eyes  of  her 
Majesty's  officials  could  penetrate.  When  too  late, 
this  discovery  was  made  by  those  worthies,  and 
immediately  a  shower  of  complaints  was  sent  across 
the  Channel,  conveying  all  manner  of  suspicions 
against  Florence  MacCarthy.  Sir  George  Carew, 
the  new  Vice-President  of  Munster,  even  wrote  that 
rumor  said  he  was  gone  into  Spain  to  hasten  the 
coming  of  Don  Juan  D'Aquiia.  Florence  might  be 
rusticating  on  the  beautiful  banks  of  Killaniey,  in 

*  Llfe^jJ  LctterB  of  Florence  MacCnvthy  More,  p.  319. 


The  Fortunes  of  an  Irish  Cuiep. 


243 


the  ap- 
as  'the 
nstantly 
forward 
of  Mac- 
o  means 
j'lorence 


,  out  all 
n  Donal, 
with  all 
f-'s  coun- 
gthened 
iaken  of 
were  as 
s  of  her 
00  late, 
lies,  and 
t  across 
spicions 
Carew, 
ote  that 
jten  the 
light  be 
niey,  in 


one  of  hia  wife's  castles, — or  in  one  of  his  own  in  fair 
Carbery, — he  might  be  looking  seaward  from  his 
strong  fortress  by  the  Old  Head  of  Kinsale — his 
favorite  dwelling  of  late — or  consulting  in  Madrid 
with  the  Spanish  king  and  his  ministers, — where  he 
was,  or  what  he  was  about,  was  a  problem  which 
good  Sir  George  had  no  means  of  solving.  Failing 
of  anything  like  certainty,  however,  he  was  ready 
with  expedients.  He  proposed  that,  in  case  Florence 
was  gone  to  Spain,  the  young  Earl  of  Desmond,  so 
long  imprisoned  in  the  Tower,  should  be  sent  over 
to  Ireland  and  placed  in  possession  of  all  the  principal 
castles  in  MacCarthy's  country.  This  was  easily 
done — on  paper, — but  to  do  it  in  reality  would  have 
taken  more  men  than  Elizabeth's  army  in  Ireland 
numbered  just  then.  What  with  the  malicious 
insinuations  and  open  accusations  of  Lord  Barry, 
enraged  at  the  ravages  of  the  rebel  troops  in  his 
country,  which  he,  as  usual,  attributed  to  Florence's 
agencj^ — what  with  the  repeated  warnings  of  Carew, 
and  St.  Leger,  and  the  other  officials,  with  the  whole 
confraternity  of  the  Undertakers,  it  is  marvellous 
that  the  Queen  and  her  ministers  still  trusted,  or 
rather  pretended  to  trust,  him.  Not  only  w^as  his 
country  closed,  as  before  mentioned,  against  the 
English,  but  it  was  literally  swarming  with  armed 
men — hired  soldiers  from  Connaught ;  his  own  fol- 
lowers, and  even  many  of  those  of  his  cousin,  Mac- 
Oarthy  Reagh,— -strangest  of  all,  since  that  chieftain 
was  no  friend  of  Florence,  as  all  their  world  knew. 


fi- 


l^.;;« 


V 


|>^^Rtt 


244 


MacCartht  More;  or, 


Strange,  indeed,  it  was  that  whole  tribes  of  Donal 
Pi  pi's  m-^st  warlike  vassals  were  then  in  the  service 
of  his  cousin  and  Tanist.  Whatever  the  intentions 
of  the  latter  might  be,  he  was  laj^idly  extending  his 
power,  increasing  his  popularity,  and  enlarging  his 
means  of  defence. 

Things  were  in  this  state  in  the  vast  country  that 
called  Florence  Mr^aCarthy  lord,  when  in  the  first 
week  of  March,  in  the  first  year  of  the  seventeenth 
century,  word  was  brouglit  to  the  chieftains  of 
Munster  that  the  great  Northern  rebel  was  coming 
at  last  to  visit  friend  and  foe  in  the  southern  jH'ovince. 
To  all  of  them  he  wrote  in  the  same  terms,  that  "  he 
would  come  to  learn  the  intentions  of  the  gentlemen 
of  Munster  with  regard  to  the  great  question  of  the 
nation's  liberty  and  religion."  To  Ormond,  the 
Queen's  Lieutenant-General,  he  tauntingly  wrote 
that  "  it  was  his  intention  presently  to  journey  into 
Munster,  to  know  the  minds  of  the  people  of  that 
province ;  and  that  he  had  appointed  the  Holy  Cross, 
in  Tipperary,  as  the  place  at  which  he  would  meet 
his  friends."  In  that  letter  he  also  undertook  to 
teach  politeness  to  the  sternest  and  proudest  Butler 
that  ever  ruled  in  Ormond.  "  When  you  next  write," 
said  he,  "  direct  your  secretary  to  use  the  word 
Mehel  as  seldom  as  may  be.'* 

How  the  heart  of  Black  Thomas  must  have  swelled 
within  him  as  he  road  these  bold,  defiant  words, 
knowing  that  they  indicated  the  consciousness  of 
etrength  and  power!    Too  well  stern  Ormond  knew 


TlIK   FOUTUNES   OP    AN    IrISU    CiIIKF. 


245 


if  Donal 
3  service 
itentions 


I  din  a;  liis 
<An^  liis 

to      o 


itry  that 
the  first 
^enteenth 
ftains   of 
,s  coming 
province, 
that  "  he 
gentlemen 
on  of  the 
lond,  the 
ly   wrote 
rncy  into 
e  of  that 
»ly  Cross, 
uld  meet 
rtook  to 
St  Butler 
|xt  write," 
lie  word 

rt  swelled 
lit  words, 
liisness  of 
)nd  knew 


that  he,  at  least,  had  no  sufficient  force  to  sustain 
his  hi«fh-soundu]<jr  title  of  Lieutcnant-General  aajainst 
the  fast-growing  power  of  this  haughty  northern 
chieftain.  As  for  the  brilliant  army  that  Essex  had 
brought  over  from  England,  it  had  never  recovered 
the  day  of  the  Pass  of  Plumes,  and  another  defeat, 
almost  as  bloody,  from  the  O'Byrnes  of  Wicklow 
amongst  their  own  beautiful  mountains ;  crest-falleu 
and  shattered,  the  remains  of  tliat  army  was  keeping 
garrison  in  Dublin,  guarding  the  precious  bodies  of 
the  cowardly  Lords  Justices,  their  gallant  but  impru- 
dent leader,  after  his  memorable  interview  with 
O'Neil  near  Dundalk,  having  betaken  himself  to 
England  I  Lord  Ormond,  then,  had  only  himself  and 
the  troops  he  immediately  commanded  to  depend 
upon.  But  the  stern  old  man,  ever  strong  and  self" 
reliant,  braced  himself  up  for  the  work  before  him. 
O'Neil,  on  his  part,  kept  his  word.  He  "  met  his 
friends  "  near  Holy  Cross  Abbey,  and  knelt  a  pilgrim 
at  the  glorious  shrine  where  in  ages  past, — before  the 
new  reliojion  came  to  rob  the  old — 

" from  matins  to  midnight  the  censers  were  swaying, 

And  from  matins  to  midnigtt  the  people  were  praying; 
As  a  tnousand  Cistercians  incessantly  raised 
Hosanuas  round  slirines  that  with  jewelry  blazed  ; 
While  the  palmer  from  Syria — the  pilgrim  from  Spain, 
Brought  their  off  rings  alike  to  the  far-honor'd  fane!" 

How  the  sight  of  the  desolation  that  had  even  then 
come  upon  the  holy  place  must  have  roused  his  ire 
against  the  foreign  oppressor  who  had  in  the  name 
of  a  new  religion  plundered  and  desecrated  the 


I 

m 


246 


MacCarthy  More:  or, 


shrines  of  his  country,  and  covered  the  fair  land  with 
the  ruins  of  its  former  greatness  !  How  he  must  have 
longed  for  the  hour,  which  already  he  saw  in  no  far 
distance,  when  the  stranger  and  the  spoiler  should 
be  driven  from  the  lands  of  which  they  had  robbed 
the  Irish  Church,  and  the  monastic  abodes  of  Ireland 
rise  again  in  their  olden  splendor  to  give  rest  and 
shelter  to  the  Religious  so  long  banished  by  penal 
edicts  from  the  once  peaceful  land  of  Patrick,  of 
Bridget,  of  Columba ! 

But  O'Neil  was  wary,  and  knew  well  how  to  bide 
his  time.  He  had  sent  the  main  part  of  his  forces  in 
another  direction,  to  assist  friends  and  punish  ene- 
mies, especially  those  of  Irish  blood  and  the  old  faith, 
who  might  refuse  to  join  the  national  cause.  He  had 
himself  gone  out  of  his  way  to  visit  Holy  Cross,  and 
confer  there  with  the  chiefs  of  North  Munster,  nearly 
all  of  whom  had  declared  their  willingness  to  take 
sides  with  him.  There  it  was  that  he  was  joined  by 
the  young  Earl  of  Desmond,  and  a  right  cordial  one 
the  meeting  was,  and  the  pledge  of  loyal  service  to 
each  other  and  the  national  cause,  exchanged  between 
them  before  the  ruined  shrine  of  Holy  Cross  w^as 
never  broken — not  Hugh  O'Neil  himself  was  more 
uniformly  true  to  the  cause  of  faith  and  country  than 
was  James  Fitz  Thomas  on  to  the  tragic  ejid. 

O'lSTeil  had  sent  word,  before  his  coming,  that  he 
would  visit  with  fire  and  sword  and  swift  destruc- 
tion all  who  held  out  for  the  Queen  of  England,  and 
he  sternly  kept  his  word  ! — The  track  of  his  army 


TUR   FCUTUNES   OP   AN   IrtSH   ClIlEF. 


247 


was  marked  by  the  blazing  homesteads  of  the  En- 
glish Undertakers, — the  new  ov  ners  of  Irish  confis- 
cated lands, — aid  of  those  Irish  lords  and  gentle- 
men— they  wore  but  few — who  refused  to  make  coni- 
mon  cause  "with  him.  Of  this  number  was  the  Lord 
Barry,  whom  neither  threats  nor  persuasions  could 
induce  to  embark  in  the  cause  of  his  countrymen  and 
co-relicrionists.  O'Neil  had  written  him  with  his  own' 
hand,  and  so,  too,  had  Bishop  McCreagh,  the  Catho- 
lic bishop  of  Cork  diocese — a  prelate  whose  head,  like 
the  other  priests  and  bishops  of  the  Irish  Church  in 
those  dark  days,  was  only  safe  on  his  shoulders  when 
under  the  protection  of  Irish  pikes  and  bayonets. 
The  bishop  had  even  threatened  Barry  with  excom- 
munication if  he  continued  to  take  sides  with  the 
spoilers  of  his  race,  the  persecutors  of  his  religion. 
But  David  was  not  to  be  moved  from  his  allegiance 
to  her  Majesty,  Queen  Elizabeth,  and  so  he  plainly 
informed  those  who  would  have  persuaded  him  to 
declare  for  faith  and  country. 

"  The  consequence  be  on  his  own  head !"  then  said 
Hugh  O'Neil ;  "  his  father's  son  ought  to  know  better 
than  trust  the  common  enemy."*  So  the  red  tide  of 
ruin  rolled  on  like  an  svalanche  into  Barry's  coun- 
try, sweeping  all  before  it, — towns, — villages, — 
farms,  cattle,  grain — everything, — human  life  alone 
was  spared, — and  loyal  Lord  Barry  was  left  to  solve 

*  The  father  of  tliis  David  was  with  the  Great  Rebel  Earl  of 
DeBmond  all  through  his  rebellion,  fell  when  he  fell,  and  tinally 
died  in  prison.  David  himself,  thc^i  a  youth,  also  bore  arms  iu 
Desmond's  army. 


Bfc  ii] 


ffl 


-i 


1 


I 


I 


248 


MacCaktiiy  Moue;  ok. 


at  his  leisure  tlie  j)roblcin  whether  Queen  Elizabeth's 
favor  or  Hugh  O'Neil's  was  of  most  value  at  that 
particular  time — in  that  particular  country.  Small 
compensation  was  the  royal  lady  likely  to  make 
David  Barry  for  all  he  lost  by  his  singular  freak  of 
"  loyalty." 

Florence  MacCarthy,  like  David  Barry,  and  all  the 
other  lords  and  gentlemen  of  the  old  faith,  received 
one  of  Tyrone's  remarkable  circulars  inviting  him  to 
venture  all  for  faith  and  fatherland,  and  to  lend  what 
aid  he  could  to  the  national  cause.  Unlike  Barry 
of  Buttevant,  the  Tanist  of  Carbery  repaired  at  once 
to  O'Neil's  camp,  where  he  was  received  with  accla- 
mation by  all  the  nobles  and  chiefs,  and  bishops  and 
priests  there  assembled.  Very  kind  and  very  cordial 
was  the  great  Northern  Earl's  reception  of  one  w^hora 
he  well  knew  united,  in  his  own  person,  the  principal 
branches  of  the  proud  Clan  Caura.  And  Florence, 
contrary  to  his  usual  custom,  was  as  frank  and  free 
as  any. 

"  Welcome,  Tanist  of  Carbery !"  said  O'N'eil,  shak- 
ing him  by  both  hands ;  "  welcome  son-in-law  and 
heir  of  Clancarthy  ! — welcome.  Lord  of  Desmond  yet 
to  be !" 

"  Lord  of  Desmond  am  I  now,  in  spite  of  mine  ene- 
mies," said  Florence- pleasantly,  "but  not  MacCarthy 
More — thanks  to  my  Lord  of  Tyrone !" 

"  Tyrone  me  no  Tyrones  !"  said  the  hot-tempered 
chief  of  the  Kinel-Owen ;  "  O'Neil  am  I  now — noth- 
ing more,  nothing  less  "* 


The  Fobtunbs  op  an  Irisu  Chikf. 


249 


"  Even  so  would  I  be  MxVcCabthy,"  said  Florence 
very  composedly  but  with  perfect  good  humor;  "the 
followmg  is  miue,  the  lands  are  mine, — I  tell  you, 
Hugh  O'lSTeil,  the  title  and  the  chiefrymust  be  mine, 
too,  ere  I  take  part  in  this  action.  Donal  hath  never 
had  aught  besides  the  name — O'Suilivan  More,  ray 
brother-in-law,  would  never  consent  to  give  the  Rod 
to  such  as  h.  and  hath  reserved  it  for  me  whom  all 
the  Sept  doth  look  upon  as  the  true  and  only  Mac- 
Carthy  More ; — the  gentlemen  all  refuse  to  follow 
Donal,  or  acknowledge  him  as  their  cliief, — me  they 
will  have  and  none  other  as  head  of  the  Sept.  An' 
I  stake  land  and  life  in  this  business,  it  must  be  as 
MacCarthy  More,  otherwise  my  aid  were  of  small 
avail  to  the  good  cause." 

O'Xeil  was  just  the  man  to  see  at  a  glance  the 
difference  between  this  noble-looking,  fair-spoken 
gentleman,  skilled  like  himself  in  the  ways  of  courts, 
understanding  thoroughly  his  own  people  and  those 
who  had  made  themselves  their  masters,  speaking 
the  tongue  of  the  stranger  as  fluently  as  his  own, — 
and  the  boorish,  untutored  Donal,  who  had  nothing 
to  recommend  him  but  the  fiery  valor  which  the 
meanest  clansman  in  all  Desmond  might  have  as  well. 
Then  Florence  MacCarthy  was  Tanist  to  MacCartIfy 
Reagh's  country, — lord  of  fair  Carbery,  and  t>on-in- 
law  of  the  Earl  of  Clancarthy — in  all  respects  one  of 
the  foremost  lords  in  IMunster,  connected  by  blood 
with  all  the  chief  houses, — whereas  Donal  was  sim;)ly 
Donal  the  outlaw,  Donal  the  base,  of  whom  all  Mua- 
Bter  could  not  make  a  'irentleman. 


ri 


S 


Hi}    ■ 


250 


MacCautiiy  Morh;  or, 


"  Florence,"  said  the  politic  Earl,  in  his  blandest 
tones,  "  Donal  had  never  been  made  MacCarthy 
I^Iore  by  me,  had  you  been  liero,  but  you  being  de- 
tained in  England,  and  not  knoAving  for  how  long, 
it  behoved  us  to  have  a  MacCarthy  More.  Now  that 
we  can  have  a  better  one,  there  is  nothing  done  but 
can  be  undone.  What  say  you,  my  Lord  of  Desmond, 
and  friends  all !  shall  Florence  MacDonogh,  Tanist 
of  Carbery,  be  MacCarthy  More  ?'* 

All  present,  with  one  accord,  answered  in  the 
affinnative,  and  Donal's  vehement  opposition  was  of 
small  avail  where  all  were  against  him.  Might  v;aa 
right  in  those  days,  but  in  that  case  Florence  had 
undoubtedly  the  right  as  well  as  the  might. 

It  was  a  proud  day,  the  proudest  of  Florence  Mac- 
Carthy's  life,  when  in  the  national  camp,  surrounded 
by  the  chief  men  of  his  race,  in  presence  of  the 
accomplished  representative  of  the  Northern  Hy- 
Nial  princes,  an<^  with  the  full  consent  of  all,  he 
received  from  the  hand  of  his  faithful  friend, 
O'Sullivan  More,  the  White  Rod,  which  was  verily 
and  indeed  the  scaptre  of  a  noble  principality — the 
same  which  his  fathers  had  ruled  right  royally  for 
many  an  age.  There  was  a  flush  on  his  dark  face, 
and  a  proud  exultation  in  his  usually  calm  eyes  as  he 
took  the  emblem  of  so  much  power;  and  when  he 
spoke  his  thanks  for  the  great  honor  and  dignity 
bestowed  upon  him,  there  was  a  tremor  in  his  voice 
that  told  of  strong  and  deep  emotion. 

And  truly  the  scene  was  one  to  impress  even  a  less 


,-**»' 


Thk  Foriunfs  of  an  Irish  Cuikf. 


251 


interested  spectator,  especially  one  of  the  old  race 
and  the  ancient  faith.  The  inauguration  was  accom- 
panied with  solemn  and  symbolical  rites  that  carried 
the  mind  back  to  the  night  of  time,  to  the  days  of 
the  first  MacCarthy  who  ruled  in  Desmond, — back 
to  times  long  anterior  to  the  Christian  era,  wdiilo 
others  were  used  tliat  belonged  to  the  newer  and 
holier  dispensation.  By  the  pagan  rite,  or  rather 
custom,  being  purely  matter  of  etiquette^  was  the 
chief  installed  into  oflice ;  by  the  Christian  rite  he 
was  blessed, — both  imposing  in  their  kind.  And 
they  who  stood  around,  truly  no  nobler  company 
had  Ireland  seen  together  in  the  later  times ;  no  more 
truly  national  assembly  had  met  on  Irish  soil  since 
the  last  feis  at  Tara,  ages  before.  There  were  seen 
Eugenian  chiefs  from  South  Munster,  and  Dalcassians 
from  Tliomond  and  Ormond  and  Ossory ;  mail-clad 
Norman-Irish  from  all  the  provinces  except  Ulster — 
then  and  for  some  years  after  tlie  home  of  the  old 
Irish  alone;  and  finally  the  stalwart  sons  of  the 
North,  O'Rourkes  and  O'Reillys  from  either  Breffny, 
MacMahons  from  Uriel,  Maguires  from  Fermanagh, 
Magennises  from  Down,  O'Neils  and  O'Donnels  from 
Tyro  wen  and  Tyrconnell,  O'Doghertys  and  O'Cahans 
from  the  farthest  north,  and  O'FaiTcls  from  the  fertile 
plains  of  Annaly ;  and  venerable  ecclesiastics  were 
tliere,  one  bishop  and  several  priests, — men  whose 
emaciated  forms  and  weatlier-bronzed  faces  told  of 
much  suffering  and  privation,  and,  too,  of  much 
travel, — amongst  these  grave  and  learned  men  wx're 


i'. 


U 


t\ 


252 


MacCaktiiy  More;  ob, 


representatives  of  more  than  one  of  the  Religious 

Orders, — in   sooth,   a   right   noble   company!     But 

chief  amongst  them  all  was  conspicuous  the  great 

Northern  Karl,  the  conqueror  of  tlie  Blackwater  side, 

the  head,  and  heart,  and  soui  of  the  national  i)arty, 

his  clear  bhie  eyes  as  yet  undimrned  by  the  mist  of 

age,  his  stout,  square-built  form  still  erect  in  the 

prime  of  manhood's  strengtli.     By  his  side  stood 

James  Fitz  Thomas,  O'Neil's  Earl  of  Desmond,  a 

young   man   of  handsome   aspect,  and  of  bearing 

befittinix  his  hio-h  lineasje. 

Such  was  the  assemblage,  such  the  scene  in  that 

camp  on  the  banks  of  the  JVIaine  river  in  Cork  County, 

in  that  hour  when  Florence  MacCarthy  was  invested 

with  the  style  and  dignity  of  IMaeCarthy  More  by 

the  free  election  of  his  Sept,  and  with  the  unanimous 

concurrence  of  all  the  principal  lords  and  gentlemen 

of  the  Irish  race !     Well  for  him  had  he  died  that 

hour  I 

«  «  m  *  *  * 

A  month  had  not  passed  afl  er  the  inauguration  of 
Florence  MacCarthy,  when  his  professions  of  loyalty 
to  the  English  interest  were  put  to  the  test  in  a  way 
he  little  expected.  O'Neil  had  gone  home  to  the 
north  to  meet  Essex*  near  Dundalk,  and  th'  u  t 
rejoin  his  friend,  Hugh  Roe  O'Donnel  that 

gallant  young  chieftain  was  bu'sy  orga.         ^  troops 

*  This  famous  conference  between  the  Irish  Eari  u  '"yro  and 
the  English  Earl  of  Essex  Is  one  of  the  memorable  historic  in  identa 
tf  that  time, — the  result  of  it  was  that  Essex  took  French  loave  of 
his  aiiny  and  hurried  oil  to  England. 


Tub  Fortunks  op  an  Irish  Ciiikp. 


253 


and  miisteriiif:^  the  elans  in  far  Tyrconnel,  proparincf 
for  one  of  his  headloncf  cliaim's  on  tlic  EnijHsh  and 
their  Irisli  friends  in  Connan<^ht ;  O'Neil  had,  hy  a 
ekilfid  strataLjcni,  avoided  meeting  Ormond  in  Tip- 
perary,  well  knowing  that  the  army  he  had  then  at 
command  was  not  such  as  he  could  lead  aj^ainst  the 
tried  soldiers  of  the  Queen's  Lieutenant-General. 
He  had  gone  to  Holy  Cross,  as  he  told  Ormond  he 
would,  and  had  there  met  and  conferred  with  his 
friends  in  tliat  section  of  the  country ;  hut  to  fight 
the  Queen's  forces  was  not  his  programme  just  then, 
so  he  quietly  slipped  away  by  night,  leaving  his 
watch-fires  burning,  and  loft  the  chafed  and  mortified 
old  royalist  general  to  retrace  his  steps  back  whence 
he  came. 

O'Neil  had  left  behind  him  a  considerable  force  of 
Connaughtmen,  commanded  by  Dermod  O'Connor, 
brother-in-law  of  the  Earl  of  Thomond,  and  these 
troops  were  placed  at  the  disposal  of  Florence  Mac- 
Carthy, — so  rumor  said,  and  so  it  seemed  from  what 
followed  soon  after. 

Immediately  after  his  memorable  visit  to  O'Neil's 
camp,  the  wily  Tanist  of  Carbery  wrote  in  all  haste 
to  London  and  to  Cork  an  account  of  his  "  parley 
with  the  rebels," — how  he  had  endeavored  to  per- 
suade Tyrone  and  Desmond  and  the  others  to  return 
to  their  allegiance  to  so  good  a  sovereign ;  how  he 
found  them  unwilling  to  give  up  their  treasonable 
courses,  but  had  prevailed  on  them  to  withdraw  their 
troops  out  of  Carbery  and  Desmond,  that  is  to  say, 


(i 


■  H 


i: 


f-  ; 


•   V'l 


264 


MacCartuy  More;  or, 


<v.-<. 


-:^..-^- 


'■"«* 


his  own  and  his  wife's  country,  which  he  would  now 
hohl  loyally  for  the  Queen's  highness,  lie  com- 
plained, liowever,  that  the  rebel  leaders  w^ould  not 
consent  to  withdraw  their  marauding  bands  from  his 
tcmtories  unless  he  took  upon  him  the  name  of  Mac- 
Carthy  More,  he  being,  in  right  of  his  wife,  better 
entitled  to  the  samo  thj,n  the  base-born  Dcnal.  In 
that  matter  he  wa3  forced  to  yield,  he  said,  hoping 
thereby  to  get  rid  of  such  troublesome  company, 
and,  by  clearing  liis  country  c^  them,  to  do  a  service 
to  her  Majesty ! 

Her  Majesty,  h  is  to  be  feared,  saw  his  acceptance 
of  the  obnoxious  title  in  a  ditferent  light,  and  recog- 
nized in  it  no  very  great  proof  of  his  desire  to  "  do 
her  a  service."  But  seeinix  that  her  freneral  in  Ire- 
land  had  no  troops  to  spare  for  the  defence  of  so  vast 
a  tract  of  country  as  that  which  Florence  Mac- 
Carthy  now  ruled,  she  was  fain  to  make  a  show  of 
trusting  him,  so  long  as  he  remained  neutral.  Even 
that  was  much  in  a  chieftain  so  powerful  as  the  now 
recognized  head  of  the  whole  Clan  Carthy,  at  a  time 
when  nearly  the  whole  country  was  either  in  actual 
rebellion,  or  ready  to  rise  at  any  moment. 

But  the  royal  officers  and  officials  in  Ireland  placed 
even  leas  confidence  in  Florence  than  did  their  Queen. 
Broad  hints  and  even  open  charQ:cs  of  treasonable 
domgs  going  on  in  the  remote  parts  of  his  vast  coun- 
try,— of  continued  negotiations  with  Spain  and  other 
Catholic  nations, — were  continuallv  being  sent  over 
to  England, — the  corps  of  accusers  being  headed,  as 


TUE   FORTITNES   OF   AN    IriSH    CuIBF. 


255 


men. 

(able 
>un- 
±er 
>ver 
„  as 


usual,  by  Lord  Bany,  now  more  wrp+hful  than  ever, 
and  blaming  his  old  enemy,  Florence  MacCartliy,  for 
all  the  woes  that  had  come  upon  him. 

Things  were  in  this  stato,  Florence  keeping  his 
country  in  perfect  quiet,  which  the  Queen  and  Gov- 
ernment believed,  or  appeared  to  believe,  loyal  ser- 
vice, and  which  it  was  undoubtedly  their  interest  to 
perpetuate,  when  on  a  day,  to  the  horror  and  dismay 
of  the  peaceable  inhabitants,  a  strong  detachment  of 
British  troops  was  sent  into  Carbery,  burning  and 
destroying  everything  that  came  in  their  way,  and 
even  slaying  the  unarmed  country  people  wOiom  they 
styled  in  their  dispatches  "  churls  and  poor  people," 
boasting  that  they  "  left  not  one  grain  of  corn  within 
ten  miles  of  their  way  wherever  they  marched ;"  on 
through  Carbery  they  marched — two  English  cap- 
tains with  their  companies, — on  into  O'Donovan's 
country,*  carrying  destruction  wherever  they  went, 
and  amongst  other  savage  depredations,  burning  the 
castle  of  Florence's  foster-brother,  and  a  quantity  of 
corn  belonging  to  his  own  brothei',  tlie  gallant  Der- 
mod  Moyle,  who  was  then  with  the  so-called  rebel 
amiy.  But  Florence  was  not  "  with  the  rebels,"  and 
his  country  was  under  royal  "  protection;"  what  then 
was  his  indignation  when  he  saw,  for  the  first  time, 
his  peaceful  possessions  ravaged  by  an  armed  force, 
and  his  people  slain  in  cold  blood;  after  all  his 
endeavors,  and  hitherto  successful  endeavors,  to  keep 

*  O' Donovan  was  one  of  the  principal  cliiefs  of  MacCurthy 
Rcagh'a  country. 


•t 


256 


MacCabthy  More;  or, 


the  red  tide  of  war  beyond  his  borders.  It  would 
scarce  have  lessened  his  indiojnation  had  he  known 
that  this  unwarrantable  outrage  was  committed  by 
order  of  Sir  Henry  Power,  who  was  about  leaving 
the  province,  and  for  no  other  reason  but  that  he  had, 
as  he  wrote  to  England,  "  conceived  a  doubt  of  Flo- 
rence MacCarthy's  loyalty !"  Those  were  the  men 
vrho  represented  Queen  Elizabeth  in  Ireland ! 

For  once  in  his  life,  Florence  MacCarthy  was 
roused  to  decisive  action.  The  blood  of  his  Milesian 
fathers  boiled  in  his  veins ;  without  waiting  even  for 
the  arrival  of  O'N^eil's  troops,  for  whom  he  at  once 
sent  to  another  part  of  his  country,  he  hastily  dis- 
pat'jhed  some  of  his  own  followers  in  pursuit  of  the 
invaders,  whom  they  overtook,  just  as  they  had 
crossed  the  Bandon  river ;  a  fierce  skirmish  ensued, 
in  which  some  slight  loss  was  sustained  on  both 
sides,  but  still  the  destroyers  swept  on  spreading 
ruin  and  death  as  they  went. 

Their  devastations  were  speedily  brought  to  a 
close.  Before  they  know  what  was  coming,  they 
found  themselves  between  Dermod  O'Connor  with 
his  thousand  Connaughtmen,  and  Florence  Mac- 
Carthy with  almost  as  many  of  liis  own  clansmen. 
The  English  being  in  strength,  they  managed  to  re- 
treat from  their  rather  awkward  position,  and  com- 
menced to  retreat  towards  Kinsale,  closely  pursued 
by  the  Irish,  and  keeping  up  a  running  fire  as  they 
went. 

The  English  succeeded,  however,  iu  throwing  a 


It  would 
e  known 
litted  by 
t  leaving 
t  he  had, 
»t  ofFlo- 
the  men 
i! 

thy  was 
Milesian 

even  for 
e  at  once 
istily  dis- 
it  of  the 
:hey  had 
ensued, 

on  both 
preading 

ht  to  a 
,  they 
or  with 
?Q  Mac- 
ansnien. 
kI  to  re- 
id  corn- 
pursued 
as  they 


►wuicf  a 


'S 


Thr  Fortunes  op  an  Irish  CtiiEP. 


257 


garrison  into  Kinsale,  but,  having  received  orders  to 
hasten  towards  Cork,  they  set  out  in  good  order, 
500  foot  and  GO  horse,  making  a  gallant  show,  no 
doubt,  as  their  helmets  and  arms  glittered  in  the  sun. 
They  had  traversed  about  half  the  distance  between 
Kinsale  and  Cork,  when,  in  descending  a  hill,  the 
officer  in  command  of  the  horse  ordered  a  halt  to 
reconnoitre  the  dangerous  ground  that  lay  before 
them.  Right  in  front  rolled  a  deep  and  rapid  river, 
spanned  by  a  narrow  bridge — on  either  side  bogs 
aad  woods — truly  an  encouraging  prospect  for  the 
warriors  of  Elizabe+h,  strange  as  the  country  was  to 
them ;  but  worse  than  the  In'idge  and  the  river,  the 
bogs  and  the  woods,  was  seen  by  the  British.  The 
sun  was  shining  full  on  the  plain,  and  its  rays  flashed 
back  from  glittering  objects  under  tlie  tall  ferns  and 
the  low  brushwood,  wliich  the  practised  eyes  of  the 
horsemen  soon  recognized  as  steel  morions,  and  pikes, 
and  bayonets  !  The  word  soon  flew  like  lightning 
along  the  line — the  Irish  were  tliere  in  ambush ! 
The  scouts  had  passed  and  rei)assed  the  bridge  witli- 
out  perceiving  them,  as  tliey  lay  flat  on  the  ground, 
covered  over  with  their  native  fern,  "  the  Irish  hill- 
fern;"  but  the  sun  shone  out  and  from  tlie  hill-side 
above,  the  gleaming  weaj)ons  and  the  steel  morions* 
wore  visible  through  the  leafy  cover.     Not  knowing 


*  That  the  Irish  soldiers,  or  soino  of  them,  at  least,  wore  ' 
cap-shaped  licliuets,  i^  proved  by  the  faet  that  some  ol'  the  ollul^ 
T^riting  to  Cecil  of  this  very  encounter,  state  expressly  tliat  tlic^y 
dihoovered  the  ambutih  by  reason  of  "  the  sun  shiuing  ou  their 
morions." 


I 


t. 

r 


I 


n  \ , 


•  ■■    jr.  *^    . 


;>•  "■  ■.■■^Mi:^ 


268 


MacCauthy  More;  or, 


what  force  miGjIit  be  there  concealed,  the  Enofli^h 
retreated,  seeing  which  the  Irisli  rushed  from  their 
place  of  concealment,  and,  to  the  cries  of  "MacCartliy 
forever !" — "  O'Connor  aboo !"  charged  furiously  on 
the  invaders,  led  on,  in  two  bodies,  by  Darmod 
O'Connor  and  Florence  MacCarthy. 

The  fight  that  followed  was  fierce  and  bloody; 
many  fell  on  both  sides,  and  Captain  Flower,  the 
English  commander,  was  amongst  the  wounded ;  so 
fiery  was  the  vengeful  attack  of  the  MacCarthy s 
and  their  allies,  that  the  English  did  not  long  stand 
their  ground,  but  retreated  figliting,  their  foot  pro- 
tected by  their  cavalry,  the  Irish  pressing  them 
harder  and  harder.  As  their  good  fate  had  it,  there 
was  a  small  castle  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  fi-om  the 
scene  of  action,  and  this  they  managed  to  gain,  the 
horse  keeping  a  bold  front  to  the  pursuers,  while  the 
main  body  entered  the  castle. 

So  fierce  was  the  pursuit  of  the  avengers  of  their 
own  and  their  kindred's  wrongs,  that  even  the 
English  officers  in  command  were  forced  to  admit  in 
their  dispatches  that,  had  not  that  castle  been  so  near, 
matters  would  have  gone  hard  witli  them ;  as  it  was, 
tlicir  loss  was  sufficient  to  make  tliem  feel  that  even 
"churls  and  poor  people"  might  be  revenged. 


The  Foutunks  of  in  Irish  Cuibf. 


259 


e  Enorlis-b 
Tom  tlieir 
lacCarthy 
riously  on 
T  Dv^nnod 

i  bloody; 
iower,  the 
unded;  so 
acCarthys 
long  stand 
;•  foot  pro- 
dnjx  them 
,d  it,  there 
e  ffom  the 
gam,  the 
while  the 

'S  of  their 
even  the 
admit  in 
[n  so  near, 
[as  it  was, 
^hat  even 
led. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


CONCLUSION. 


Nothing  can  better  illustrate  the  wonderfully 
clever  mind  of  Florence  MacCarthy  and  his  bound- 
less powers  of  persuasion  than  the  fact  that  he  man- 
aged to  escape  the  censures  of  the  Government  and 
the  anger  of  the  Queen  after  this  operu  and  in  part 
successful  attack  on  her  Majesty's  troops,  which  it 
was  hoped  by  his  enemies,  and  feared  by  his  friends, 
would  be  his  utter  ruin.  Yet  he  plainly  told  Sir 
Robert  Cecil,  that  he  was  only  sorry  he  did  not 
catch  either  of  the  English  captains,  for  that  if  he 
had,  he  would  certainly  have  hanged  them  both  ! — 
He  knew  his  power  at  the  time,  and  was  well  aware 
that  there  was  nothinsc  Elizabeth  and  her  ministers 
dreaded  more  than  a  rupture  with  him.  But  still 
from  that  time  forward  he  never  trusted  himself  in 
the  hands  of  the  English,  never  emerged  from  the 
fastnesses  of  his  country,  or  entered  a  walled  town 
without  a  written  protection.  Only  once  he  forgot 
his  habitual  distrust  of  the  English,  and  that  once 
was  his  ruin.  jlilfe, 

It  was  immediately  afltcr  Florence's  gaUilil  1exi| 
ploit    in    revenge    for  the   slaughter  of  hisiiHHp  * 
pie,  and  the  spoliation  of  his  lands,  that  Sir  Hehry 
Power,  the  author  of  the  outrage,  was  removed  from 


m 


r 


260 


MacCarthy  More;  or, 


Munster,  and  a  much  abler  and  more  politic  man  was 
made  President  of  Munster.  This  was  Sir  George 
Carew,  the  man  who,  of  all  others,  had  most  to  do  in 
defeating  the  life-long  projects  of  the  new  MacCarthy 
More,  and  undermining  the  proud  elevation  which  he 
had  at  length  attained.  One  of  the  ablest  English- 
men ever  sent  in  those  stormy  days  to  fleece  the  Irish 
and  keep  them  in  subjection.  Sir  George  Carew  was 
also  one  of  the  most  unscrupulous.  As  no  device  was 
beyond  his  cunning,  so  none  was  too  wicked,  too 
utterly  base  to  be  used  by  him  at  need.  This  Flo- 
rence MacCarthy,  like  many  others,  found  to  his  cost. 
He  had  now  to  deal  with  a  man  as  able  as  himself, 
as  far-reaching  and  as  far-seeing,  but  alas  !  without 
any  of  those  conscientious  scruples  that,  as  a  Catho- 
lic, restrained  Florence  MacCarthy  within  certain 
limitations. 

The  position  in  which  our  hero  found  himself  at 
this  time  was  one  that  called  into  play  all  the  powers 
of  his  versatile  and  singularly  gifted  mind.  He  was, 
to  use  a  hackneyed  phrase,  between  two  fires ;  on  the 
one  hand,  O'Neil  and  Desmond  were  urging  him  to 
throw  off  the  ignoble  mask  under  which  he  concealed 
bis  real  sentiments,  and  boldly  declare  for  faith  and 
^country ;  the  Government,  and  especially  Carew,  was, 
^J#tie  other  hand,  vehemently  insisting  on  his  break- 
^ing  ;^h  the  rebels,  and  lending  his  powerful  aid  to 
tlBwifh  them,  as  beseemed  one  so  highly  favored,  or  so 
they  said,  by  his  liege  lady,  Elizabeth.  Then  at 
home  there  was  his  wife  rej[?roaching  him  with  hia 


Thr  Fortunes  of  an  Irish  Chief. 


261 


was, 
)reak- 
lid  to 

or  so 
311  at 
his 


"  untlcrhaud  plotting  " — and  doing  her  little  best  to 
induce  him  to  join  the  royalists  onee  for  all. 

His  tried  friend,  O'SuUivan  More,  had  gone  as  a 
hostage  for  him  to  O'Xeil,  and  was  detained  in  the 
Korth  so  rauch  beyond  the  time  stipulated  that  he 
grew  impatient,  and  began  at  length  to  blame  Flo- 
rence for  the  temporizing  and  vacillating  conduct 
that  had  left  him  a  prisoner,  far  away  from  home  and 
friends — and  neglected,  it  would  seem,  by  the  very 
man  for  whose  sake  he  had  placed  himself  in  thrall. 

Yet  still  Florence  hesitated,  neither  joining  ono 
party  nor  the  other,  but  keeping  himself  out  of  harm'a 
way  in  the  depths  of  his  own  wild  country  of  Des- 
mond, his  castles  filled  with  armed  men,  and  his 
borders  on  a  war  footing.  Meanwhile  the  fierce 
struggle  was  raging  north  and  south ;  O'Neil  had 
conquered  Bagnal  at  the  Yellow  Ford  and  Clonti- 
bret ;  he  and  O'Donnel  had  well  nigh  cleared  the 
North  of  the  Queen's  mercenaries;  Desmond,  his 
faithful  ally,  was  for  some  time  successful  in  the 
South,  but  after  a  while  his  resources  failed,  and  he 
found  it  hard  to  maintain  his  ground.  Tlien  it  was — 
when  the  Northern  chieftains  felt  the  necessity  of 
eifectincf  a  simultaneous  risiuGj  in  the  South,  that 

O  0  7 

they  called  indignantly  on  IMacCarthy  More  to  hoist 
at  once  the  standard  of  revolt  and  call  his  chieftains 
and  his  people  to  arise  and  revenge  the  w^rongs  of 
ages.  Then  it  was,  too,  that  James  Fitz  Thomas  be- 
sieged him  with  letters  of  earnest  supplication,  de- 
picting in  moving  terms  the  straits  to  which  he  was 


■  .1 


i^ 


262 


MacCarthy  Morb;  or, 


reduced,  and  imploring  liim,  for  the  sake  of  the  cause 
that  ought  to  be  equally  dear  to  both,  to  come  to  his 
assistance.  He  was  not  to  be  moved  from  the  neutral 
ground  he  occupied,  and  so  made  friends  of  neither 
party.  A  fatal  error  this  was,  and  a  sad  verification 
of  the  old  adage  that  too  much  caution  defo<ats  its 
own  end.  Only  a  little  while  before,  Carew  wrote  to 
London  that  "  the  entire  province  was  disaffected ; 
with  sufficient  worldly  wisdom  the  great  Lords  con- 
tinued subjects  in  show,  but  their  followers  were  in 
action  with  Fitz  Thomas ;  the  walled  towns  were  cor- 
rupted ;  and  the  open  country  was  wholly  in  posses- 
sion of  the  Geraldines,  and  shut  against  the  Queen's 
loyal  subjects." 

During  that  brief  season  when  "  the  open  country  " 
was  "  in  possession  of  the  Geraldines  •/'  when  "  the 
walled  towns  were  corrupted,"  that  is  to  say,  gained 
over  to  the  national  party, — when  Lieutenant-General 
Lord  Ormond,  with  his  friend,  the  Earl  of  Thomond, 
(the  loyal  head  of  the  O'Briens !)  were  captured  by 
Owen  O'More,  the  dashing  chief  of  that  gallant  Sept, 
with  a  few  of  liis  followers, — and  was  only  liberated 
after  much  negotiation  and  sundry  concessions  made 
to  the  Catholic  army;  when  the  glorious  northern 
chiefs  were  sweeping  all  before  them,  and  making 
Elizabeth  tremble  for  her  "  realm  of  Ireland ;"  when 
aid  was  constantly  expected  from  Spain  and  Romo 
and  other  Catholic  nations ;  when  tlie  English  interest 
in  Ireland  was  deemed  of  all  men  in  most  imminent 
perilj  and  when  a  little  more  success  »vould  have 


TllR   FOUTUNKS   OK    AN   IrISH    ChIBP. 


263 


Sept, 
k'ated 
Imadc 
[the  I'll 

,vhen 
liorao 
Icrest 

ineiit 
(have 


emboldened  all  the  Catliolic  Irish,  old  and  new,  to 
join  hands  for  God  and  native  land,  and  hurl  defiance 
in  the  face  of  haughty  England, — had  Florence  Mac< 
Carthy  More  then  cast  off  the  mask  and  thrown 
himself  and  his  thousands  of  followers  into  the  na- 
tional  cause,  all  might  yet  be  well,  and  Ireland  might 
have  been  loosened  once  for  all  from  the  cruel  chain 
of  bondage.  Well  for  him,  well  for  Ireland,  had  ho 
at  that  critical  moment  of  his  country's  history 
adopted  a  bolder  and  more  honest  course,  and  fol- 
lowed the  instincts  of  his  truer  and  better  nature ! 
But  he  did  not,  and  soon,  very  soon,  the  opportunity 
had  passed  and  forever — at  least  for  him.  O'Neil's 
good  fortune  was  at  last  deserting  Lim,  and  his  star 
was  paling  before  that  of  Elizabeth's  new  Lord 
Deputy,  Charles  Blount,  Lord  JMountjoy.  Dark 
ruin  was  impending  over  the  great  Earl,  and  hia 
ruin  involved  tliat  of  his  truest  Munster  ally,  the 
Earl  of  Desmond.  O'Neil,  in  his  last  efforts  to 
miaintain  his  ground  against  Mountjoy,  was  forced 
to  withdraw  all  the  troops  he  had  left  in  Munster, 
and  the  gallant  young  Geraldine  saw  himself  left  to 
his  own  resources,  which  were  becoming  daily 
less, — alas !  treachery  was  at  work  undermining  the 
very  foundations  of  his  too  short-lived  prosperity. 
A  brief  episode  of  the  history  of  his  brave  but 
unsuccessful  struggle  to  have  and  to  hold  his  grand- 
father's title  and  possessions  is  too  characteristic  of 
the  times  to  be  passed  over  without  mention  in  this 
brief  historical  sketch  of  the  fortunes  of.  an  Irish 
chief; 


264 


MacCartuy  Mork;  ob, 


The  reader  will  scarce  liave  forgotten  the  young 
Geraklino  lord  whom  we  in  the  course  of  this  vera- 
cious narrative  introduced  to  his  notice  as  a  prisoner 
in  the  Tower  of  London.  Well !  wiien  his  cousin, 
James  Fitz  Tliomas,  seemed  likely,  with  the  aid  of 
his  powerful  ally,  O'Neil,  to  wrest  not  only  liis  earl- 
dom, but,  perchance,  all  Ireland  from  English  rule, 
Elizabeth  and  her  ministers  devised  a  plan  for  his 
undoing  which  they  thouglit  could  not  fail  to  effect 
that  most  desirable  result.  In  pursuance  of  this 
plan,  the  Tower  Earl,  as  that  hapless  scion  of  a  noble 
race  is  usually  styled, — was  dressed  up  in  such  gar- 
ments as  befitted  his  rank,  and  sent  over  to  Ireland 
under  the  tutelage  of  no  less  a  person  than  the  apos- 
tate Myler  McGrath,  the  Queen's  Archbishop  of 
Cashel,  with  one  or  two  other  loyal  gentlemen,  os- 
tensibly as  attendants  on  the  high-born  son  of  the 
Count  Palatine  of  Desmond,  in  reality  as  spies  on 
his  actions,  lest  he,  too,  following  the  rebellious  in- 
stincts of  his  race,  miglit  fall  into  the  evil  courses  of 
his  cousin  !  The  hope  was  that  this  young  nobleman, 
being  the  son  of  the  late  Earl,  wdiose  memory  was 
still  dear  to  all  Munster,  would  be  able  to  draw  off 
the  people  of  his  father's  Palatinate  from  the  cousin 
who  had  no  such  claim.  And  it  seemed  at  first  as 
though  the  stratagem  was  likely  to  succeed ;  a  thrill 
of  joy  ran  through  the  whole  country  on  the  news 
of  his  arrival,  and  the  people  thronged  in  thousands 
to  Kilmallock  Castle  to  welcome  him  whom  they 
considered  their  rightful   lord.     It   was   Saturday 


Tub  Foktunrs  of  an  Irish  Ouir?. 


265 


on 

in- 

of 

Itian, 

was 

off 

isin 

t  as 

irill 

2\VS 

nds 
ley 
lay 


night,  and  all  night  long  the  fjxithful  followers  of  the 
Geraldine  kept  crowding  into  the  town,  waiting 
patiently  in  the  streets  to  get  a  sight  of  the  Karl 
wdien  he  came  forth.  And  trnly  his  appearance  next 
morning  was  greeted  with  the  wildest  enthusiasm ; 
even  the  housetops  were  crowded  with  eager 
watchers,  and  such  a  cheer  went  up  from  the  mighty 
multitude,  as  the  young  lord  appeared  on  the  tliresh- 
old  of  his  father's  door,  as  had  never  been  heard  in 
the  old  Geraldine  town.  According  to  the  ancient 
custom,  salt  and  wheat  were  thrown  on  the  repre- 
sentative of  the  country's  ancient  lords,  in  token  of 
good  will,  and,  amid  fervent  blessings  and  cries  of 
"  Shannid  Aboo  !"* — "  the  Geraldine  forever  !"  he 
passed  on  with  his  melanchol}  smile,  bowing  gra- 
ciously on  every  side. 

A  few  minutes  more  and  the  blessings  an  1  prayers, 
and  joyful  acclamations  had  changed  to  hootings 
and  execrations.  The  fiiithful  followers  of  the 
Catholic  Geraldines,  many  of  whom  had  fought  for 
the  faith  under  the  late  Earl,  had  the  grief  and  mor- 
tification of  seeing  the  young  ICarl  accompany  Myler 
McGrath  and  the  English  gentlemen  to  the  Protest- 
ant  church,  and  of  learning  from  his  attendants  that 
he  belonged  to  the  new  religion!  From  that  hour 
there  was  none  to  do  him  homage,  and  no  more 
notice  was  taken  of  him  by  the  vassals  of  his  house 
than  if  he  were  a  common  kerne !     One  strong  castle 

*  The  ancient  war-cry  of  the  southern  Geraldines,  from  the  name 
of  one  of  their  iirincipiil  castles. 


266 


MacCartuy  Mour;  or, 


(Castlemaine)  had  boon  given  up  to  him  by  a 
gentleman  of  the  Fitzgeralds,  Thomas  Oge  by  name, 
but  that  was  all  the  luckless  Tower  Earl  ever  ac- 
complished for  the  Queen  or  himself!  Some  months 
longer  ho  remained  in  the  country,  a  melancholy 
slkadow  of  nobility  ;  his  young  sisters,  the  Lady 
Kllen  and  Lady  Joan  Fitzgerald,  were  allowed  to 
make  him  a  visit  in  Kilmallock ;  but  his  mother,  the 
ased  Countess,  beino:  a  fervent  Catholic  and  the 
widow  of  a  noted  rebel,  was  deemed  too  dangerous 
a  character  to  be  allowed  to  have  sight  or  speech  of 
her  only  son.  That  venerable  lady  had  herself  fallen 
under  the  ban  of  English  justice,  for  she  stood 
charged  with  the  wicked  crime  of  devising  a  mar- 
riage between  her  daughter  Joan  and  the  young 
chief  of  Tyrconnell,  the  gallant  Hugh  Roe.  An  un- 
grateful heart  must  the  Countess  have  had  so  far  to 
Ibrget  the  benefits  she  and  hers  had  received  from 
the  good  Queen  Bess  !  It  was  clear  she  did  not  ap- 
preciate the  favor  done  her  family  by  that  royal 
lady  in  having  her  noble  husband's  head  sent  to  her 
in  London,  and  there  preserved  on  the  top  of  a  spike 
for  her  own  and  others'  delectation  ! 

Be  that  as  it  might,  the  Queen's  Earl  of  Desmond 
and  his  mother  never  met  during  the  few  months 
he  remained  in  Ireland.  And  when  he  returned  in 
disgust  to  England,  he  died  "  within  the  year," — the 
poorest,  saddest,  of  all  the  Geraldines,  that  one 
that  grew  to  manhood  in  the  shadow  of  the  British 
crown ! 


TUR   FORTUNKS   OF    AN    IrISII    CuIEP. 


267 


But  the  Queen's  Earl  of  Desmond  went  to  Eng- 
land and  died  neglected;  and  soon  O'Neil's  Earl, 
the  gallant  Fitz  Thomas,  the  far  worthier  scion  of 
the  grand  old  Geraldine  tree,  left  to  his  own  resour- 
ces, as  we  have  said,  by  reason  of  O'Neil's  reverses 
in  the  north,  sank  daily  into  deeper  ruin,  and  was 
radnally  deserted  by  his  followers  till  only  a  small 
band  was  left  him  ;  with  these  devoted  few  lie 
wandered  here  and  there,  wherever  he  could  hope  to 
find  protection  and  the  means  of  preserving  life, — • 
like  his  uncle.  Earl  Gerald,  before  him, — until  at  last 
he  was  betrayed  by  a  wretched  kinsman  of  his  own, 
Fitzgibbon,  the  White  Knight,  into  the  hands  of  the 
English  rulers,  and  thrown  into  prison  to  await  his 
doom.  Yet,  unfortunate  as  he  was,  his  memory 
ought  to  be  held  in  houor  by  those  who  know  how 
to  prize  devotion  to  a  reat  cause,  true  patriotism, 
and  fidelity  to  religioF 

The  "  Sugaun  Earl  once  out  of  the  way,  and 
O'Neil's  fortunes  fast  failing  in  the  north.  Sir  George 
Carew  exulted  in  the  thought  that  now  he  could 
deal  as  he  wished  with  Florence  MacCarthy,  whom 
before  he  feared  to  drive  to  extremities.  That  chief- 
tain had  been,  from  his  first  coming  into  office,  the 
terror  and  perplexity  of  his  daily  life ;  his  letters  to 
England  were  all  full  of  "  Florence  McCartie,"  whom 
he  said  "  hung  like  a  thundercloud"  over  his  plans 
and  prospects  for  what  he  called  "  the  pacification 
of  Munster." 

Yet  even  then,  when  the  national  party  he  had 


.mi^ 


268 


MacCartuy  More;  on, 


so  long  sustained  in  his  own  peculiar  way  by  pre* 
serving  a  show  of  armed  neutrality  that  ke'j[;f  ',he 
English  authorities  in  a  state  of  watchful  anx.  ety 
concerning  his  movements ;  when  the  national  party 
had  lost  its  prestige,  and  O'Ncil's  great  Confederation 
was  rapidly  falling  to  pieces,  Florence  MacCarthy 
still  kept  Carew  at  bay.  Without  any  actual  show  of 
revolt,  he  managed  to  maintain  that  feudal  sover- 
eignty in  Desmond  which  had  cost  him  so  much  toil 
and  trouble  to  acquire,  and  left  Carew  as  much  in  the 
dark  as  ever  concernino:  what  was  passinoj  in  those 
wild  regions  of  the  south.  Warned  by  sad  exj^eri- 
ence  of  the  past,  he  never  left  his  own  country, 
where  he  lived  surrounded  by  armed  followers,  with- 
out a  special  "protection"  or  passport  foA'  each 
visit,  signed  in  the  Queen's  name.  Hitherto,  this 
had  been  a  sufficient  security ;  but  tlie  time  was 
comino;  when  it  should  serve  him  no  Ioniser! 

~  CD 

Sir  George  Carew  had  tried  divers  waysofman- 
acjins:  this  obstinate  rebel — for  such  he  and  all  the 
English,  by  that  time,  deemed  liim — and  little  won- 
der, seeing  that,  with  all  his  fine  promises,  he  had 
never  done  the  least  tliinoj  to  advance  the  Ent^lish 
interest  since  the  day  he  was  sent  back  trom  England 
to  take  possession  of  iiis  wife's  inlieritance ! 

One  thing,  of  all  others.  Sir  George  was  bent  on 
doing  by  way  of  making  sure  of  Florence,  and  that 
was  to  obtain  possession  of  his  eldest  son  as  a  host- 
age. But  someliow  the  youth  was  never  given ;  in 
that,  too,  Carew  found  himself  foiled.     For  many 


by  pre* 
:e'|if  '.he 
anx.  ety 
al  party 
deration 
cCarthy 
show  of 
tl  sovcr- 
iiich  toil 
?h  in  the 
in  those 
[  c X pen- 
ce iintry, 
rs,  with- 
for  each 
irto,  this 
me  was 

of  man- 
all  the 
le  won- 
he  had 
lEnrjlish 
Pinorland 


Thb  Fortunes  of  an  Irish  Chirf. 


269 


id 


cnt  on 
that 
a  host- 
^cn;  in 
['  many 


months  Sir  George  entertained  h^s  patrons  at  Court 
with  his  efforts  to  get  possession  of  the  young  he'i* 
of  MacCarthy,  and  Florence's  excuses  and  breaches 
of  promise.  So  long  as  he  kept  "  the  sick  child  "  at 
home,  all  his  promi? ( 3  were  of  no  avail,  and  Carew 
was  fiercely  indignai't.  But  Florence  MacCarthy 
had  seen  too  much  of  the  English  manner  of  treating 
such  hostages  to  trust  his  first-born  son  into  the 
hands  of  her  Majesty's  deputies.  It  was  "  diamond 
cut  diamond  "  between  the  able,  unscrupulous  Presi- 
dent of  Munster  and  the  no  less  able  head  of  the 
Clan  Carthy. 

IndijirTiant  that  he  could  no  lonojer  wile  the  chief- 
tain  into  visiting  him  at  Cork,  Sir  George  was  in  the 
habit  of  calling  him,  amongst  other  hard  names,  a 
coward,  but,  when  indulging  in  bitter  merriment  at 
his  expense,  he  did  not  think  it  necessary  to  state 
that  Florence's  "  cowardice  "  was  nothing  more  tlian 
what  's  called  "the  better  part  of  valor,"  viz. :  dis- 
crol-it'U.  It  might  have  spoiled  the  joke  had  he  told 
Oi  a  certain  bargain  he  had  made  some  time  before 
with  one  "  John  Annyas  "  to  poison  Florence  Mac- 
Carthy P'  and  that  it  was  solely  by  reason  of  the 
chief's  caution  in  keeping  within  his  own  country 
that  the  President's  emissary  could  not  reach  him. 
This  fact  alone  goes  far  to  prove  that  Florence  IMac- 
Carthy,  so  sadly  misunderstood  by  his  countrymen 

*  3ee  MaoCarthy's  Ufc  and  Letters  of  Florence  Macdf^tJiy  More^ 
p— -.  It  is  also  well  ascertained  that  Carew  employed  a^sa.'isins  to 
poison  ITuicli  O'Ncil,  and  to  shoot  the  Sugauu  Earl  and  his  brotUer— 
all  cf  which  attempts  happily  failed. 


tna 


MacCarthy  Moh*:;  or, 


then  and  si-ice,  v/as  considered  ly  the  GoveiTiment 
a  nio8t  danirerous  and  incom2"''ble  rebel.  Whatever 
hia  plans  were,  they  lay  so  deep  beneath  the  surface, 
and  \vere  prosecuted  with  such  extreme  caution,  that 
even  the  all-piercing  eye  of  Carew  could  not  pene- 
trate them,  and  could  only  guess  at  their  nature  and 
extent.  Yet  his  suspicions  never  slunibered,and  ^v  atch- 
ing  Florence  became  the  great  business  of  his  life. 

And  was  Florence  the  deep  plotter  the  President 
made  him  appear  ?  Had  he  really  connections  with 
the  Queen's  enemies  and  Ireland's  friends  beyond 
seas?  That  the  reader  will  presently  find  out. 
Pass  we  on  now  to  the  one  false  move  which  he 
made  in  this  notable  trial  of  skill,  a  move  that  threw 
the  game  at  last  into  the  hands  of  his  unscrupulous 
adversary. 

The  President  had  sent  Florence  a  more  peremp- 
tory order  than  usual  to  repair  to  him  at  Cork,  and 
explain  certain  suspicious  movements  in  his  country, 
threatening  that  if  he  failed  to  obey  the  summons  he 
would  at  once  send  all  the  force  he  had  at  his  dispo- 
sal,— and  it  was  then  a  very  large  one, — into  Car- 
bery  ana  Desmond  with  orders  to  burn  and  destroy 
everything. 

Florence  promised  to  go  if  Sir  George  sent  him  a 
"  protection ,"  the  protection  was  sent,  and  duly  re 
ceived,  and  armed  with  it  the  chieftain  rode  to  Cork, 
^attended  only  with  a  few  of  his  followers,  fearing  to 
excite  Carew's  suspicions  if  he  went  with  a  larger 
retinim. 


m>m. 


<W14J!T«'J|H1I»» 


government 
Whatever 
the  surface, 
aiition,  that 
i  not  pene- 
nature  and 
,and  watch- 
)f  his  life, 
e  President 
ctions  with 
ids  beyond 
''  find  out. 
5  which  he 
til  at  threw 
iscrupulous 

re  peremp- 

Cork,  and 

s  country, 

mmons  he 

his  dispo- 

into  Car- 

la  destroy 

lent  him  a 
[T.  duly  re 

to  Cork, 
Tearing  to 

a  larger 


Tub  Fortunes  of  an  Irish  Cutbf. 


271 


The  interview  was  precisely  the  same  as  all  those 
that  had  preceded  it, — angry  and  vehement  charges 
and  reproaches  on  the  part  of  Carew, — cool  and  cau- 
tious answers,  byway  of  justification,  on  the  part  of 
Florence,  many  tine  words  and  professions  of  loyalty 
but  nothino-  more  definite  than  ever  before.  But  if 
the  interview  were  the  same,  its  result  was  wholly 
ditierent,  for  the  perfidious  Carew,  baffled  and  driven 
to  his  wit's  end,  ordered  Florence  under  arrest,  and 
notwithstanding  all  his  protestations  and  remon- 
strances, arrested  he  was.  In  vain  he  showed  the 
Queen's  pardon  for  "  all  former  offences  "  whicli  ho 
had  loncc  asro  obtained,  and  had  often  before  availed 
himself  of  it  with  Carew  hhnself;  in  vain  he  threat- 
ened to  appeal  to  the  Queen  lierself;  the  President 
laughed  the  threat  to  scorn,  saying  that  he  would  be 
answerable  for  Avhat  he  did.  It  was  not  in  the  nature 
of  Florence  MacCarthy  to  give  way  to  sudden  bursts 
of  passion,  and  in  that  case  he  knew  the  expression 
of  his  feelings  would  but  make  matters  worse.  So  ho 
gulped  down  as  best  he  could  the  burning  wonls  of 
scorn  and  indignation  that  rose  to  his  lips, — repressed, 
Avith  the  strong  energy  of  his  character,  the  stormy 
emotions  that  swelled  his  heart,  and  with  forced 
calmness  submitted  to  Avhat  he  could  not  avoid — 
hoping,  he  said,  that  his  imnrisonment  wouhl  be  of 
short  duration. 

"  It  may  be  so,"  said  Carew  with  a  sinister  look  ^ 
that  did  not  escape  Florence.  ^^ 

"  It  will  not  be  his  fault,"  he  thought,  "  if  I  leave 


272 


MacGarthy  More;  or, 


the  prison  witli  life.  Xow  mav  God  befriend  me,  for 
never  needed  I  more  His  aid !" 

And  well  he  might  say  so.  But  the  bitterest 
draught  of  all  was  yet  to  be  ])resented  to  his  lips, 
and  by  the  hand  of  Carew ! 

Ere  yet  he  Avas  conducted  from  the  presence  of  tho 
harsh  and  imperious  President  of  Mmister,  Florence 
demanded  to  know  the  grounds  on  which  he  was 
made  a  prisoner,  in  violation  of  the  Queen's  written 
pardon,  and  Sir  George's  own  "  protection." 

"  The  Queen's  pardon !"  said  Carew  with  a  sar- 
donic grin,  "  hath  reference  to  your  ^)(7.s'^  misde- 
meanors, not  to  joxir 2}resent,  as  you  know  full  well." 

"  My  present  misdemeanors  !"  said  Florence ;  "  I 
pray  you,  Sir  George  !  what  are  they  ?" 

"  ISTay,  good  Master  Florence  !  your  show  of  ijij  urcd 
innocence  will  nought  avail  you  now.  Your  black 
treachery  is  well  known  to  us.  For  my  part  I  never 
doubted  that  you  were  playing  us  false ;  but  even 
your  best  friends  among  us  are  now  convir:ced." 

"  Where  is  your  proof?"  said  Florence ;  "  I  defy 
any  one  to  prove  aught  against  me  to  justify  this 
act." 

"Methinks  you  are  over  ready  with  your  defiance, 
MacCarthy  MoreP''  said  Carew,  laying  a  bitter 
emphasis  on  the  title.  "  I  tell  you  I  have  the  pi  oof-  • 
the  damning  proof  in  my  keeping — I — even  I! ' 

"  I  would  see  it !"  said  Florence  with  a  w^xi  of 
hesitation  that  was  unusual  with  him. 

"  Nay,  nay,  good   master  !"  said  Carew  with  a 


impip 


Thr  Fortunes  of  an  Irish  Chief. 


273 


larcw  with  a 


derisive  l.iugli,  "  I  am  too  much  of  a  hiwycr  to  p  ro- 
duce  my  documents  before  the  time.  But  proof  I 
have,  and  tliat  under  your  wife's  hand,  that  you  are 
still  plotting  treason  with  Spain,  of  the  which  the 
Lady  Ellen  doth  complain  as  on  her  own  account 
an  I  that  of  her  children,  and  prayeth  me  to  tal^e 
measures  that  may  restrain  you  in  your  evil  courses 
which  must  bring  ruin  on  her  family." 

Florence  heard  him  calmly  to  the  end  ;  every  one 
of  these  terrible  words  had  sunk  like  red-hot  iron 
into  his  soul,  l)ut  these  fixed  themselves  there  in 
charactei's  of  flame — "  Proof  I  have  under  your 
wife?s  handP'^  A  deadly  paleness  overspread  his 
face,  his  breath  came  thick  and  short,  and  the  very 
blood  in  his  veins  seemed  liquid  fire.  One  thought 
kept  gnawing  at  his  heart — "Ruin — ruin — ruin  to 
all — and  by  her! — yet  I  once  loved  that  woman!" 

Carew  stood  watching  his  victim,  enjoying,  with 
a  keen  delight,  the  sight  of  torments  he  had  himself 
inflicted — torments  none  the  less  visible  that  they 
had  no  outward  expression. 

"  I  see  you  are  convinced,  Master  Florence  !"  said 
the  iron-hearted  oflicial  with  a  diabolical  leer — 
"Treason,  you  see,  will  -ut !" 

"Like  murder P''  '&^v\  the  Irish  chieftain  sternly, 
with  a  look  that  fo'*  a  moment  disconcerted  his  per- 
secutor, who  could  not  help  seeing  tliat  not  or  y  his 
recent  attemptsio  murder  were  known  to  the  ab  tand 
astute  man  before  liim,  but  also  a  jmssage  of  L;^  past 
lite  (which  he  had  supposed  forgotten),  whea   with 


! 


274 


MacCarthy  More;  or, 


his  own  liatul,  he  had  committed  a  murdor  in  the 
streets  of  Dublin.  Ilis  confusion  was  but  for  a 
moment,  and  then  he  |3Ut  an  end  to  the  scne  by 
opening  the  door  and  summoning  the  guard  to  con- 
vey Florence  MaoCarthy  to  prison. 

Cautious  even  then,  and  still  hoping  that  he  miglit 
succeed  in  extricating  himself  from  his  perilous  posi- 
tion, MacCarthy  said  no  more.  Not  even  a  word 
of  comment  escaped  him,  and  bowing  to  the  Lord 
President  with  the  best  grace  he  could,  he  followed 
the  soldiers  who  had  taken  him  in  char«e. 

He  was  lodged  in  Cork  jail,  but  it  was  only  for  a 
few  days  ;  he  was  sent  once  more  to  London,  and 
the  same  ship  that  conveyed  him  to  the  hated  shores 
of  England,  brought  his  cousin,  James  Fitz  Thomas, 
the  Sugaun  Earl  of  Desmond. 

Nor  one  nor  the  other  ever  stood  on  Irish  soil 
again !  Desmond  died  a  few  years  after,  a  broken- 
hearted man,  in  that  gloomy  Tower  that  had  proved 
fatal  to  so  many  of  his  race,  but  Florence  MacCarthy 
was  destined  to  pass  full  forty  years  in  captivity  in 
London,  many  of  them  in  the  Tower.  He  might 
still  be  called  young  when  this  his  last  captivity 
commenced ;  before  death  came  to  end  his  woes  he 
was  "the  cunnincr  old  traitor"  of  the  Enorlish-L*ish 
officials,  against  whom  he  was  still,  as  ever,  battling 
by  law  for  the  inheritance  of  his  children.  Ilis  life, 
during  that  long  period  of  time,  was  the  strangest, 
saddest  tiling!  Ilis  wretched  wife,  whom  ho  had 
force«l  himself,  for  his   children's  sake,  to   receive, 


}R, 


The  Fortunb^    of  an  Irifh  Cuirf. 


275 


a  murder  in  the 
was  but  for  a 
-0  tlie  seme  by 
e  guard  to  cou- 

ig  that  lie  miglit 
is  perilous  posi- 
•t  even  a  word 
iig  to  the  Lord 
lid,  he  followed 
ar«e. 

/  was  only  for  a 
o  London,  and 
he  hated  shores 
's  Fitz  Thomas, 

d  on  Irish  soil 

ifter,  a  broken - 

lat  had  proved 

ice  MacCarthy 

in  captivity  in 

n\     He  might 

last  captivity 

id  his  woes  he 

English-Irish 

ever,  battling 

en.     His  life, 

the  strangest, 

/hoTii  he  ha<l 

2,  to  receive, 


had  at  last  desertea  r  ii  when  years  passed  on  and 
she  saw  no  chance  oi  hn  being  liberated ;  she  left 
his  sons  with  him,  h/^^  ever,  and  in  his  poor  lodging- 
house  in  the  blighting  sliadow  of  the  Tower  he 
educated  them;  one  of  thara  sickened  and  died,  and 
was  buried  in  that  foreigi  soil  far  from  the  graves 
of  his  fathers,  in  that  Mucruss  where,  in  evil  hour, 
as  Florence  now  sadly  fej;,  his  parents  had  plighted 
their  faith  !* 

By  his  wonderful  krowle'ge  of  law,  Florence 
managed  to  light  all  the  greedy  cormorants  who  were 
preying  on  his  lands  so  -uccfssfully  that  he  secured 
great  part  of  his  estates  for  his  children. 

Bat  before  he  died  i:i  tl'.e  Tower,  a  frail  old  man 
broken  in  body,  though  never  in  mind,  what  changes 
he  had  seen!  He  had  heard  of  the  submission  of 
O'Neil  at  Mel lifont ;  of  the  death  of  Hugh  O'Donnel 
in  Spain ;  of  the  failure  of  the  Spanish  expedition 
under  Don  Juan  d'Aquil'i ;  of  the  flight  of  the  North- 
ern Earls,  the  exUnctio:!  of  Ireland's  last  hope ;  he 
had  seen  Elizabeth's  hfvughty  head  consigned  to  the 
tomb,  and  the  wretche  1  imbecile,  James  of  Scotland, 
reigning  in  her  stead,  a  sorry  successor  for  a  princess 
who,  v/ith  all  her  terrible  faults,  was  a  great  ruler, 
and  could,  at  times,  be  worked  upon  to  do  a  generous 
action  or  a  deed  of  mercy, — not  so  James,  who  had 
neither  heart  r.or  mind  to  wield  a  sceptre  1    And  the 


*Hi8  eldes*;  sen  afterwards  married  Lady  Sarah  McDonald, 
daughter  of  f/andal.  tuK  Maniuis  of  Avt'iiu, 


276 

year  n.  T.  '^"^arn  ,-./•    •        ^'^M^risnr.  t-^^    *^ 


"1-  Mo, 


Ki5 


"». 


•'"  to  bo  r       '''■^"'•J<e 

'""  <  ,ir '  ^-•«'- 

''""cession  „       "  ""^-or 

"-.'  t  "f  "'^^  ^» 

™'*»y  anotlH,r 
'""Mess  of  ci,„ 

ent.         ^"'"«"' 
"  "'  ^  i..i-rie,7 


Tun  FoRTDNna  or  an  Inisu  Cm«p.  277 

.Dd  unartistic  manner  but  still,  we  l.ope,  trutl.fully, 

El  ..b!  h  "'"^^5  ^"  I-''  Chief  in  the  Keign  of 
J'-liz.ibcth.        Of  a  man    greatly  endowed,  <.reatlv 
m.«ropresented,    but    who    was    admitted    Lhk 
enemies    themselves    to    be   "mn»;M„  „  7.     7   ■ 
Munster/"  ^"Jimtdy  adored  m 


